


Atlantic City

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 47,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prohibition Era Atlantic City told through the eyes of different players: Mr. Gold, the corrupt mayor, has his son become apart of his criminal organization - by being a bootlegger. Mary Margaret is the president of the Temperance League - as her daughter sneaks off to the speakeasy every night. Swanfire, Snowing, and Rumbelle. Higher portions of Swanfire - I can't help it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Emma Swan

Emma Swan prided herself on being an enigma.

She was born and breed along the Atlantic Shoreline; amongst 'polite society'. Her family could be traced back to the state's founders. Before that, the Mayflower! It was all a very long, tedious tale – one that her parents made sure she could recite at the drop of a hat by the age of five.

The biggest blemish in her lineage seemed to be her great-grandmother; a rebel who actually believed women had the right to be educated! – Luckily for Emma, her grandmother and mother had both seen the good in this!

Her father owned buildings along the shoreline and rented at a very liberal price! It was lucky the family fortune wasn't tied up in his business ventures – for he would always forgo making interest in favor of helping a struggling widow and her children. He was also involved in local politics – sitting on the town's council and being one of the few men there to call the mayor out on his bluffs.

Her mother was a full fledge suffragette! Most of Emma's childhood consisted of attending rallies, luncheons, and charity functions with her mother. Now that women finally had the vote, mama had taken up her next cause: becoming the president of the local Temperance League; eliminating the demon alcohol from God fearing shores!

Sitting straight back in a chair, hands folded modestly in her lap; gloved, of course! – Emma listened as her mother's voice carried through the hall.

" – we must purge these intoxicants from our shores! No Christen nation can allow for such vulgarity to continue. Women – abused by their husband! Husbands under the control of Satan's agents! Today marks the first whole week of prohibition in this great nation – and I think we can already deem it a success. I had a boarder of my husband's stop me in the street earlier, exclaiming that her husband did not go and waste his pay at a bar last night – no! He came home and, as a family, they gathered around the table and read from the bible!"

Women shot to their feet; clapping for Mary Margaret Swan's bravery – to actually have a conversation with the impoverished wife of a possible drunkard! It really was a triumph of the human spirit!

Emma knew she had to give her mother credit – she always believed firmly in her causes; always had the best of intentions. A natural leader, had she been born a man she'd have several easy outlets for her interest – could definitely have given Mayor Gold a run for his money! But alas! She was a woman. Much loved by her husband, daughter, and society at large – but very aware of what society would tolerate.

Emma clapped for her mother – secretly hoping that her involvement in the Temperance League would downgrade now that some states were denying to ratify the women's vote initiative.

Next to her, Alexandra Boyd clapped in reverence – the very image of everything Emma knew she should strive to be: feminine, devote, modest, and unfailingly kind. Alexandra had been her friend since childhood – then an apple of every parents' eye for she managed to maintain neat hair and clean hands despite everything Emma would get them into. Alexandra leaned up to Emma's ear,

"Do you think it's true? – That alcohol is Satan's agent?"

Alexandra's eyes were huge and Emma had no doubt the girl took each outrageous claim their mothers' passed out in pamphlets as absolute truth; written by Christ's own hand!

Moving her own lips to her friend's ear, Emma replied,

"I guess we'll find out tonight."

Alexandra paled; lips pressed like a fish as she turned back around – towards the podium. Emma couldn't help but smirk as she followed the motion of her dear friend the angel; facing back to the front as her mama led the women in a hymn –lyrics fashioned for the cause!

"Stand up for Prohibition,  
– be soldiers of the Lord.  
For love of God and country,  
The Drink has got to go!"

Across rows of women, Mary Margaret's eyes meet Emma's – filled with pride that she and her grown daughter could share in such a holy quest. For a second, Emma almost felt guilty for her evening plans. Almost.

-

Tearing down the street in her Rolls-Royce, Emma never felt freer. It had been a present from father upon finishing her education: a bright yellow Royce with creamy, leather interior parked outside their house as he drove her home from the station. Her mother had seemed shocked as well; asking him repeatedly 'if he thought it wise'. It was an oddity, a girl of eighteen having a car; and such a fine automobile as well. Had she not been the only child; had her parents been blessed with a son as well, there was no way she'd ever snag such an extravagant gift. But she was her father's world and he seemed just as excited as she; as they soared along the highways together, testing the car's speed levels – mama watching them leave from the house, frowning.

Racing through the night, Emma drove like an expert. Like a racecar driver on speed! She'd twist her wheel and blaze her horn – breaking new records in Atlantic City history. Alexandra was in the passenger seat; ducked low and eyes shut – terrified of Emma's warpath. Emma had flirted with her father's clerk for weeks to get the address for a speakeasy. Promised, should she get caught, that she'd never indicate how she learned the location – especially not to her parents! And even assured him of a dance and drink as long as he didn't give her away! Now, she could hear the pulsating music coming from up the drive; windows showing rows of party light strung across the interior. She wondered briefly if she should have just driven around for a couple nights, that could have been less time consuming, as she parked and exited the car. Alexandra stayed rooted in her seat.

"Emma, I'm not sure this is a good idea – not in the least! These are rough places and men … they can get violent and –"

"Come on, Alexa! You can't tell me you believe half of that hogwash! My own father drank the occasional whiskey – until mama outlawed it from the house! And he's the sweetest men I know!"

"But, it is a well known fact that young men – when exposed to the drink and wild music – get unsavory urges…and not just violence!"

Emma knew where this was going but wanted to hear her sweet friend say the ungodly word.

"Whatever can you mean, Alexa?"

"You read _THAT_ pamphlet just like I did Emma. You know –"

"I've read many a pamphlet that mama's made. Some of them do so run together in my head…"

Looking around to make sure no one could hear, Alexa muttered,

"Young men can get… _sexual_ urges. And try to take advantage of girls like us!"

Emma rolled her eyes, "I'll not let anyone make any unwanted advances to either of us!"

"But Emma –"

"Look - there's no point doing something wicked if you're going to spend the entire time wishing you were good! Are you in or not?"

Alexandra rose from the seat, slamming the car door as she marched over to Emma.

"Very well then, we'll try this! But- the moment I feel like either of us are threated or things are getting out of hand: I'll drag you out of there if I have to!"

Emma smirked, Alexa was finally growing a backbone. The chance of the petite blonde in front of her – same age, but at least three inches shorter – ' _dragging_ ' her out of anything seemed ridiculously funny. But the determined look on Alexandra's face made Emma check her laugh.

"Very well – and I promise you won't have to 'drag' me. I'll come willingly. I'm not here to be a complete rebel, Alexa – I just want to have fun!"

With a nod, Alexandra wrapped her arm around Emma and the bosom buddies moved into the speakeasy.

The music was deafening – a giant band was on a raised platform near the door. The room was so crowded that Emma and Alexandra had to push through the mob – trying to keep their footing. A quick inventory of the women present told Emma she was dressed too modestly; her and Alexa's skirts far too long for what the other women their age seemed to be wearing. Emma saw knees and thighs on the dance floor! She'd simple have to talk to her dressmaker about this! Emma also found herself adoring a young woman a few feet away's style: bobbed hair and a feathered headband. Pointing her out to Alexandra, Emma exclaimed,

"I'll be going to my stylist tomorrow for that haircut – and do you think Ruby Lucas could construct headbands like that?"

Turning around to see, Alexa's mouth fell open – the flapper was now grinding her buttocks into the front of her dance partner.

"That is not dancing! And you will most certainly not! What would your mother say?"

Emma shrugged, craning her neck in search of the bar. Perhaps a drink or two would unwind her friend a bit. When they managed to plow their way to the bar, Emma ordered the drinks; leaning against the counter as Alexa continued to stare wide-eyed at the dancers. Placing a glass of brown liquor in her friend's hand, Emma was shocked to see that, after an initial sniff of the glass's contents, Alexa had started to nurse her drink as she watched the dancers and the band sway. Smirking, Emma brought her own glass up to her mouth. The alcohol burned down her throat but her pride kept her from letting out a cough – she'd not let anyone think her a child!

It wasn't long before two young men popped out of the crowd and began conversing with them. They were pleasant enough, Emma decided. Nice to look at with a good sense of humor. Alexa even seemed to deem them no threat, laughing loudly at each quip. Both girls danced with each boy once before the dance floor was cleared; a professional dancer, skirt skimming her upper thigh, demanded the floor to showcase the newest dance craze from New York: the Charleston. Legs and arms kicked outward in rhythm as the dancer swayed back and forth across the floor. The knees bent in exaggeration on off beats. As the music grew faster, the surrounding audience clapped in awe as the dancer became a swirl of movement; men whistling as her skirt rode higher and higher. Emma and Alexa laughed and clapped along. When other dancers started to get the idea, taking the floor again to try out this new 'craze', Alexa and one of the boys were quick to join in. When Emma's partner moved to take her hand she shock her head, saying she would be sitting this one out but urging him to ask another girl – indicating one a few feet away tapping her foot but no partner in sight.

Laughing and clapping a bit more as Alexa moved across the floor, Emma headed back to the bar for a drink. Unfortunately, the barman was no longer there. As she looked out to the dance floor, she found him dancing along with the professional dancer. Sighing in defeat, she leaned against the bar – only to find a full glass of something left unattended. Foresight of the bartender? Or just a patron left their drink unattended to dance? Deciding she'd make amends later – either buy the patron another drink or pay the bartender for this one – Emma rose the glass to her lips, swallowing a sip of the liquor.

"You know – I'm pretty sure that was my drink."

Jumping, Emma almost choked on the drink as she turned to her side; finding a young man with dark hair leaning next to her on the counter. His brown eyes twinkled as she stammered for a response.

"Um – I'm… I truly am sorry. Just that – the barman wasn't here and –"

"Yeah, Bob's otherwise engaged right now," said the man, nodding over to the man dancing with the dancer. "Not that I can blame him, though." Turning back to her, he smirked. "Is that what you wanted: a dry rye?"

Emma had no idea what she wanted – or what the differences between liquors were. Wasn't rye some type of bread anyway? Before her mama started her crusade, Emma had tried champagne and a nip of her father's whiskey and that was as far as her alcohol education went. Despite that, she nodded. Not willing to admit she'd be drinking anything as long as it was currently prohibited under American law.

He smiled at her, gesturing at the glass still in her hand, "You keep that then- I hadn't even sipped it yet." Looking over his shoulder, the man plopped on top of the bar, reaching over to grab a bottle of some clear liquid: labeled gin. "I'll just help myself." And he did! Pouring himself a glass of clear liquor and moving back to her side again.

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to do that," Emma taunted him.

"I'll admit – at the very least it is probably frowned upon. But serves Bob right for abandoning his post."

"Don't come crying to me when they kick you out."

He laughed at this, a booming pleasant sound. But didn't seem truly fazed at the prospect of being removed from the speakeasy. Emma supposed, already drinking at an illegal establishment, being removed wasn't such a big deal. And the speakeasy probably didn't enforce infractions.

There was silence, as both sipped their drinks and watched the dance floor. The Charleston was becoming sloppier by the minute. Emma could not make out more than the top of her petite friend's head bobbing up and down every so often. And Bob and the dancer seemed to have given up instructions altogether – creating a spur of the moment dance as they went.

"I know for a fact you've never been in here before."

Emma found herself confused by his ice-breaker. Normally, people would phrase a question; 'have you ever been here before?' of such – even if they were certain the answer. But no: he issued a pure fact. And how did he know that? Was she acting so much a fish out of water? She felt herself start to get defensive.

"And how do you know that? Are you policing this establishment? An undercover FBI agent?"

He was laughing again, shaking his head the negative. "I'm defiantly not with the FBI – you just… I'd remember seeing you. You're quite unforgettable."

So – he thought her odd? She was going to be at the dressmaker's the second it opened tomorrow and have her hair cut before noon! She was just as young, wild, and free as anyone else in the room!

"Well, if you're certain. Couldn't be that maybe I come here nights when you aren't in attendance?"

"Nope –you've never been here before. I'm going to stand by that. New to town?"

Emma found herself nodding – which was partially true! She'd been gone to school for awhile – only returning for a few weeks of break in the winter and summer.

"Ah ha!" The answer seemed to please him. He turned fully around to her; grinning, "I knew it! So – visiting family? Traveling the world? All seem like viable options for someone like you-"

"Since you seem to think you have me all figured out – why don't you tell me?"

"I'd say both – you're traveling the world but this is a pit-stop: you probably have family nearby or there's no way you'd be here. You're so much more than the Jersey Shore – probably heading off to Europe by the end of the season; a doll like you would be at home in Europe. Oh – and, since I'm figuring you out for yourself, you're not a 'dry rye' kind of girl. And I say this with a great level of respect, as a dry rye kind of guy. Nope – you need something more exciting!"

Emma almost choked on another sip of her drink. "What would you suggest?"

"Honestly, you're probably just going to have to try a lot of things out. But I do have one suggestion!" Once again, he was across the bar – but this time actually picking himself over the counter and propelling to be standing opposite her.

"I'd try some gin for you... but –" he began pouring different bottles into a cylinder; afterwards shaking the cylinder over his head and pouring the concoction into a glass for her. "This is a martini. And, going out on a limb here, I'd say this is a contender for being your drink of choice."

Smirk in place, he slid the glass over to her; watching her reaction carefully as she took a sip. Emma admitted, this was much more refreshing than her other drinks this evening. It was still bold, not sweet by any means. But there was a defiant spice; a zest. A complexity lacking before. A hint of lemon juice that reminded her of lemonade – but the alcohol brought out a bitterness; which she couldn't bring herself to dislike.

She raised an eyebrow, preventing her feelings from fully surfacing. "A martini you say?"

He nodded, looking a little nervous of her reaction.

Her smile broke out, "It is very good. Not sure it's my end-all, be-all yet – but defiantly a contender!"

Smiling back at her, he retrieved his own glass from across the table and clinked it against hers.

"I'll drink to that," he said lifting his drink to a smirking mouth.

Another sip of her martini and Emma found her father's clerk by her elbow, praising her for showing up alone; such a lively spirit! Grabbing her hand, he pulled her back into the mob to claim his dance; Emma only getting to look back once at the man behind the bar. But she felt his eyes on her back for the rest of the evening. Such a pity! The clerk even felt the need to show Emma and Alexa to her yellow car when the party broke up!


	2. Bae Gold

His father had always prided himself on being a self-made man - coming from extreme poverty to be the mayor of Atlantic City in 1920. When, as a child, Bae chose to be difficult during meals, his papa would always remind him about his tough childhood; when he caught and ate rats just to stay alive. By twelve, Bae actually called this bluff – having been exposed to nothing but the finest of apartments and homes his entire life. Mr. Gold immediately sent for the car, driving Bae to a shanty town off the prier. Walking down rows, watching haunted faces peer out of their doorways at the fine politician and his son, Bae moved closer to his papa – until they reached the final structure. Roof caving in, the one room shack that the Great Mr. Gold had been born in.

"My father, scum that he was, abandoned my pregnant mother in this shit-box. She gave birth to me, alone, at the age of fifteen – dying here a couple of years later. All I had in the world, the legacy left to me by both of them, was this shack. They didn't even leave me a proper name, my boy."

Even as a child, Bae noticed his father's jaw and fists shake; a mixture of grief and rage that no other man would ever be able to encompass like his papa. Tentatively, Bae took his father's hand in his; in comfort. To remind papa he still had his son – would always have him!

Mr. Gold looked down at his son, anger resolving into a weak smile.

"I'll be leaving you so much more, Bae. A proper empire - a name with power behind it. And you'll build from it: a smart lad like you will only strengthen our legacy. I can't even imagine what the Gold legacy will look like once you have a son of your own to pass it down to."

It wasn't until his teenage years that Bae realized how this 'empire' grew; the backroom dealings and many 'uncles' who'd come over in the middle of the night – causing his papa to send him upstairs to bed. It wasn't until he'd finished college-  the best his grades and money could supply - that his father laid their empire out for him.

In the months leading up to the mayoral election, Bae had been running his papa's campaign: his official campaign manager. The eve the ballots were counted, his papa called him into the study; sat across from Bae as he described the vast empire.

"I started with whorehouses. High class establishments for the most part - but still a nasty business; keeping the girls clean and the fellas peaceful. Consolidated those investments to mainly providing protection; let a Madame do the rest of the mess! Then started working the champion fighters' underbelly. They needed an intermediate – someone who could haggle with all parties –"

"Something you've always been very good at," noted Bae, sipping his drink.

"Aye, one of my few natural talents. With the whorehouses and fighters' billings, I managed to get my first political seat – where I continued my work as an intermediate; brokering deals between different interested parties –"

Bae wasn't naïve anymore. He nodded for his father to continue, knowing he'd just admitted all he would of being a crooked politician.

"This year marks an interesting turn for our family – I could very well be mayor of Atlantic City before the night is through –"

"I'm counting on that papa – as long as I did my job right!"

" – and alcohol will be illegal by this winter. The Senate's passed an Amendment and now it's been ratified. While other men were boasting that this could never come about I've been planning, my boy! Making connections with sailors and fisherman, friends up in New York and Boston – I've downsized our involvement in everything else, except my political life. Everything we have is going into this endeavor."

"So the family's new enterprise is?"

"We will be supplying booze for most of the Eastern seaboard – and become very wealthy doing so."

"Rumrunners? You've put everything down on that?" Bae stirred his drink in hand, grinning when he made another connection. "So that's why you gave a speech at the Women's Temperance council? You supported them so – when alcohol is illegal – you can drill up the pricings?"

"Bae, my boy, we're going to make a killing because of those sorry saps outlawing intoxicants – I have no idea why any of them actually think this will work! … And I wanted the women's support for my campaign. Mary Margaret Swan is the biggest pain in the buttocks in town – but she has the ear of some powerful players. And, if not her, her fool of a husband does!"

"You seem to have been playing it beautifully, papa – so why are you telling me now?"

"You told me, a couple nights back, that you have no interest in a political career – that managing mine would be as far as you'd go –"

"And I stand by that, papa -"

"So I thought it was time for you to take a more active role in our other family business. I'll put all my hopes for a Gold Presidency on the next generation – on my future grandson. You – your contribution for the Gold empire will be making our fortune off the Prohibition. Future campaign start-up capital for Gold the third!"

Laughing, Bae raised his glass to clink against his father's. Father and son toasting to the future. Within the hour the race was called. Mr. Gold was the new mayor of Atlantic City. Won by a landslide. And Bae had gone from a successful campaign manager to bootlegger overnight.

Prohibition went into effect midnight; January 16, 1920. The weeks leading up, Bae had spent his nights watching shipments come ashore; meeting his father's connections and checking the storehouses. His papa couldn't seem to resist showing up; not yet prepared for his son to run the whole industry. Midnight on the 15th, Bae entered the largest storehouse to find his father and men already gathered around cases. Mr. Gold had one of the bottles in hand, holding it up against the faint light to check the purity of the liquid.

"You think you can make a good batch from this, Jefferson?"

Jefferson nodded, "We got 450 cases tonight – I can make that at least 2,040 rounds for the speakeasies and clubs. Couple crates for the restaurants- we have enough in stock already for private consumption."

Gold shook his head, "I have an order for our friends in New York – I want it to reach them for their celebration tomorrow night."

Bae, Jefferson, and the rest of the men nodded; shouldn't be too much an issue.

"And I want this order especially watered down. Add coloring if you have to – it's time to send them a reminder of who they're dealing with!"

Jefferson and Whale were off with that shipment by morning; guns hidden deep in their jackets should New York need another type of reminder.

This wouldn't be the last instance of his papa micromanaging the underground business. More often than not, he'd find his papa making the rounds at the storehouses – or waiting on the prier as a shipment came in. And Bae tried to be the considerate son; it's not like he'd been given full reign over this business venture! But it was maddening taking orders based on who his papa was targeting; whoever papa thought needed taught a lesson! This was a business: and as long as they had money in their pockets, Bae was willing to work with them – his father's vendetta or not!

He couldn't even arrive home most nights- exhausted at four in the morning - without finding his papa waiting up for him: ready for more shop talk. Apparently, the years he'd been away at college had taken a toll on 'father-son bonding'.

  
The only relief was the speakeasy; a headquarters for Bae and his men. Papa couldn't be seen 'socially' involved in their bootlegging; plausible deniability and whatnot – so the club had become a quick sanctuary.

A few nights in, and Bae had learned to block out the roaring music and chants of the crowd; finding a piece of Zen nursing a drink or two at the bar. Occasionally, Jefferson or Whale would pop up with some type of issue; usually a quick enough fix – like it usually was when he was making the call and his papa wasn't lurking over his shoulder.

Everything was peachy until the blonde decided to steal his drink a week into Prohibition.

She was a young thing, eyes already wide; taking in everything she could of the chaotic speak. She seemed genuinely apologetic to be caught red-handed - but didn't move to place the glass back in front of him. He couldn't determine if it was shock or an adult version of 'finders, keepers' going on.

He'd let her keep the drink.

Had he been another guy; had some degree of 'dandy' in his blood – he'd have asked her to dance. Or at least been more obvious in his flirting methods. Having watched most of the crew's attempts to woo naughty flappers in an evening – you'd think he'd have picked up a shred of allure; or at least be able to fake it!

But no: he prepared two drinks like a bartender and managed to have an altogether awkward conversation about her travel plans!

When her sweetheart appeared to sweep her back to the dance floor, Bae was certain she felt saved from an oaf. And yet he couldn't let it go. He spent the rest of the evening watching her; eyes trained on every hint of yellow hair moving along the dance floor. When Bob slinked back to his post, after apparently fucking the professional dancer in the back room, Bae verbally chastised him with everything he'd witnessed his father use over the years – citing,

"If you can't preform the one duty I ask of you: you can leave right now and never come through those doors again!"

Bob was apologetic, promising it would never happen again. And when Bae accepted this promise, Bob seemed to think they'd returned back to a couple of young, rowdy, hot-blooded men, "Did you not get a look at that woman's ass, though?"

Rolling his eyes, Bae grabbed his drink and marched to the opposite corner. Leaning against the far wall, he once again took up watching the blonde dance; laughing with each partner and swaying about. He promised himself: _next time - if you even get a next time- at least introduce yourself!_ Flirting and dancing might be completely beyond him – but he needed to know her name.


	3. Mary Margaret

With Prohibition passed, and the ratification of the women's vote underway, Mary Margaret Swan was searching for her next cause. For years, she had worked with women's leagues to fight for a better future – for a world where her daughter could have more rights than her great-grandmother could ever dream of. But there was still a far way to go; complete equality of the sexes and liberation of women would be a long journey. But it was her duty, and Emma's to follow after her; to provide stepping stones along the way. But what was the next step?

Sitting in her drawing room one late afternoon; mail spread out on the chaise to her side, Mary Margaret was flipping through a new pamphlet – mailed to her by a fellow suffragette (and dear friend) from New York. She had urged Mary Margaret to pass the pamphlet on through her ranks; a pamphlet simply titled ' _Family Planning_ '.

She could easily see how her friend found this a liberation to women and a true life saver for some of the poorer families – the sexual education of young woman was too often ignored; and at a dire cost! Governance of their bodies had been denied for generations. With this information, girls could control the amount of children they had – and if they weren't caught up in the constant cycle of having babies, perhaps higher education and entrance into the workplace could come about!

If the Great War had taught the nation anything, it should have been that women were just as capable as men! More so, she thought with a grin, remembering what she had been able to organize while her husband was away – rallies, charities, medical training, and a functioning labor force for Atlantic City! All while raising her child as a single mother for years! As happy as she was to have the love of her life return home –uninjured, thanks be to God! – she certainly missed the freedom she had found; of being an open leader in her community without having to hide behind 'white laced gloves'. And she was fortunate, having a husband who continued to encourage her endeavors; who wanted her opinions heard. Many cohorts from wartime had now been silenced once again.

Most methods discussed in ' _Family Planning_ ' didn't shock her. After all, having been told after their first child that another would kill her, she and David had to explore different options. David, God love him, was not about to endanger his wife for anything! And she wasn't about to lose physical intimacy with the only man she'd ever longed for! A healthy, sexual chemistry was a necessity for a happy, long marriage. And they'd certainly managed that!

Just as her eyes skimmed the pages instructing in detail how to cleanse after intercourse with Lysol, she heard the front door open and Emma calling, "I'm home!" down the hall. Not yet ready to have such discussions with her daughter – and really, she shouldn't have to until Emma was engaged at least! – Mary Margaret quickly hid the pamphlet under the chaise's pillows, grabbing a stack of letters to make herself look busy.

Raising her eyes again when her daughter entered the room, Mary Margaret was floored! The long, gorgeous, blonde curls that she used to painstakingly detangle every morning were gone! She'd cut her hair! What had once flowed down her back now came to her cheek bones. Throwing her hat into a nearby chair, Emma did a mock twirl.

"Do you like it, mama?"

"… it's certainly a change!"

"It's so light and breezy – far more practical! Just think about the time it will save me in the morning – and playing tennis: I won't have to constantly be messing with it, trying to get it to stay in place."

"… I wish you had consulted me. Maybe let me come along-"

"But mama! It's the new fashion – all young women are cutting their hair, shortening their skirts –"

Mary Margaret finally removed her eyes from her daughter's hair. Looking down to her daughter's buckled shoes – she could almost see her knees!

"Emma! That dress length - it's borderline indecent!"

"Oh," Emma exclaimed, picking up the skirt of her dress and twisting it about. The movement allowing for a perfect view of her garter belts. "I had thought I'd picked a more moderate length for my day clothes. Ruby even measured to make sure I had inches to spare!"

Rising to her feet, Mary Margaret walked towards her daughter. Pausing in front of Emma, she played with the shortened hair; fingering a curl that slide out from behind Emma's ear. Smiling at her daughter, Mary Margaret offered, 

"It's definitely modern –"

"Oh, I'm so happy you're not too vexed with me! Just wait until you see the length of my new evening clothes - and the headdresses Ruby is working on!"

Her daughter was beaming, excited by it all; eager for newness. Mary Margaret tried to hide a cringe. She'd had dresses made shorter than this one? And Ruby had allowed it!

Both were saved as the voice of David Swan came billowing down the hallway - 

"Will my family be joining me for dinner this evening? Or must I dine alone!"

Moving to the back room of their fine house, Mary Margaret found her husband seated at the head of the table, flipping through his own stack of letters. Handsome as the day she met him, but now with a sprinkle of gray hairs scattered here and there; spectacles, now needed for reading, almost falling from the bridge of his nose. The gray hairs and glasses just adding allure; her studious darling!

As she took a seat adjacent to her husband, Emma swooped down to plant a kiss on his forehead before moving to her own chair,

"Evening, daddy!"

"Evening, sweetheart," he replied, still engrossed in his work. "Did you have a nice day?"

"Oh – yes! Ran some errands, Ruby invited me for luncheon –"

As David and her daughter talked back and forth about their days, where they ate lunch and with whom, Mary Margaret watched and waited. Her husband had yet to raise his head! Only when Johanna finished placing the platters, forking a large brisket onto his plate, did David place his correspondence to the side and fully look at their child.

His eyes went wide. Mary Margaret shifted in her seat, preparing herself for being a peacemaker. After all, both of them could be ridiculously stubborn! But no yelling ensued. Fork in hand, David used it to gesture towards his daughter; confusion etched on his face.

"Don't tell me – something's different…"

Sighing, Mary Margaret reached for her glass of water. Emma laughed, shaking her head side to side to give her father a hint.

"Ah! – You got your haircut!"

"Yes, daddy! Do you like it?"

David Swan leaned back in his chair, pausing a moment to regard his daughter.

"You know – I really do! Accentuates your mother's cheek bones and chin!"

Emma proceeded to chatter on about choosing the style and repeating how much more practical shorter hair was.

"Exactly - and you do tend to drive with your roof down, Emma! Makes much more sense to have shorter hair – safer even!"

Shocked by her husband's acceptance of the bobbed hair - enthusiastic even - Mary Margaret listened to the two carry on. After awhile, when both paused their prattle to start tucking into their meal, Mary Margaret found herself smirking: the new hair style really did compliment Emma's chin.


	4. Emma. Emma Swan

Emma had fallen into a pattern. She'd pick up Alexa in an evening and they'd drive about; usually ending up at the speakeasy. It didn't take long for them to fall in with a group of young people; the two men they met the first night included. With their new cohorts, they'd party well into the morning. Emma had become an expert at sneaking in before the milkman – and, since she kept showing up on her curb every night, Emma assumed Alexandra had as well.

She was amazed with how easily she could sprout excuses for her evening debacles. Her parents were told that she had joined some youth council – highly involved already! Just like her mama! And, naturally, a youth council must have their dances and socials; fundraisers and meetings. And she always made a point of dinning with her parents in an evening; assuring them she was still alive and well.

Weeks in, and the house parties started. One of the gang's parents would be out of town – or someone knew someone who had an large, empty house full of liquor. Alexandra didn't seem bothered by the set up, comfortable with their new group of friends – so neither was Emma.

Tonight was no different. After the club, they had all hopped into cars and driven out into the country. The scheme had been offered up by one of the fellas – August. Emma hadn't catched if the house was his, his family's or not; just him voicing that it stored music and liquor – because what else could any of them ask for?

Opening doors and windows on the first floor, the cohorts had managed to create a vast layout for their party; French doors offering up for rooms for activities and dancing. August, boisterous and taking center stage, was playing the role of host; dispensing drinks and bottles to any interested party. A musician from the club had located a grand piano in one room, hammering out a wild rhythm on the instrument as girls gathered around; swooning.

In the room Emma and Alexa found themselves in, a new phonograph was placed against a far wall; playing the latest music from Chicago and New York; melding the recorded echoes with the piano playing down the hall. August had entered in grand fashion, sweeping his arms around as he poured generous helpings into everyone's glasses.

"Good God! - That man is watching us Emma! Why ever –"

"Probably some salacious raper, Alexa! No doubt a useless drunk as wel–" looking up, Emma stopped in mid-breath. She did know that man. But couldn't place him for her life! Was he a colleague of her father? No! That wasn't right! When he realized he had been noticed, the skin around his eyes crinkled; the left side of his mouth moving upward for a smirk. She knew that smirk!

It didn't take long, as they both stood there regarding each other over the party, for Emma recalled the man.

"It's alright, Alexa- I know him. Stole from him several nights back is all –"

"Emma Ruth Swan!"

"Nothing all too shocking! I just – he'd left his drink completely unsupervised and I – took it off his hands."

He moved to cross the room, coming to stand in front of her – and then did not say anything! Arching an eyebrow that he'd apparently moved just to stare at her closer, Emma decided to start,

"I've taken up your advice."

He looked confused for a moment before playing along, "Oh yeah, and what advice was that?"

"Been trying different drinks to find the right one: not a man's drink is safe tonight if left unattended!"

He laughed; the great booming sound she'd remembered. It was full; genuine. And part of her was giddy to awake it again. He looked down at his feet, bashful for a second, before raising his eyes to hers. Opening his mouth to speak just as Alexa cut into the conversation,

"Alexandra Boyd," she said, extending her hand to the stranger. Give it to Alexa to go about things the proper way – exchanging names before jokes.

He shook her hand and replied, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Boyd. Bae Gold."

After a prolonged pause, Emma realized both Bae and Alexa's heads had been turned in her direction – waiting for her introduction.

"Emma. Emma Swan."

Alexa smiled at her from behind Bae's back; signifying that she had done something right. Bae once again continued to rotate from staring at his shoes to her. The evening would have been a complete disaster if Alexa hadn't been a pro at etiquette.

"What do you do Mr. Gold?"

He paused for a moment, swirling the contents of his glass around before answering, "I'm a businessman – specializing in trading: imports and exports."

Emma bit the inside of her lip; that had to be the dullest job. She was about to voice the one question she could find about such a business venture: what are you importing and exporting? – only to find Alexa already leading the conversation; reciting everything she seemed to recall about shipyards and steamers.

Had she set her cap for him already? The very thought seemed disturbing for Emma – and made her hot around the collar.

Alexa kept the conversation a float, Bae supplying an answer when the time called for it. But Emma remained reserved – inwardly searching for a quip about ships or trading that could make him laugh again.

"Oh –" Alexa broke the conversation, gesturing somewhere over Bae's shoulder. "There's Felix! Dear boy promised to show me a new dance – please excuse me!"

With one final smile at the pair of them, Alexandra was off; swallowed by the crowd.

"So – ' _Gold_ '? Any relation to the new mayor?"

"His son." Pausing, Bae countered, "And ' _Swan_ ' – are David and Mary Margaret your relatives?"

"Yes: my parents."

"Ah – so you're not just visiting then? A local girl!"

"Disappointed?"

"No – more intrigued! I believe you, when you were seven or so, pushed me into the ocean during a political rally! Both our fathers' were speaking on the grandstand and you nudged me right off the prier -"

"I don't remember that at all!"

"You did! I remember my papa taking it as a personal affront to the Republican party!"

"I dare say, you probably had it coming."

"I'm sure I did."

"Seems strange – that you are a trader. Would have thought blistery-Gold would have you lined up for some political seat somewhere – if not preparing you for the White House."

"He was but things took a turn for everyone's satisfaction. And what is the daughter of the Temperance League president doing at clubs and parties every night? What would your mother say – inches away from the demon alcohol?"

"My mother doesn't hate alcohol as much as what it represents for her. And I'm happy to say I'm a free, independent agent – removed from my parents' actions. Wouldn't you say the same?"

"Indeed," he raised his glass in the air, toasting "To not being our parents!"

Clinking her glass against his, Emma answered "Hear, Hear!"

As the night progressed, Emma discovered that she really liked Bae Gold. He had a keen intellect– which he chose to showcase through humor. But he wasn't a loud personality – vain and seeking everyone's undivided attention. He was perfectly fine with the other young men running and screaming about like fools, as he remained by her side; whispering clever remarks into her ear.

When she had to finally ask for a dance, him not doing so in the first hour of interaction, she learned he wasn't graceful or fluid in his motions. She wouldn't go as far as suggest he had two left feet – but it was clear that dancing wasn't his forte. But with his hand spread out on her back; guiding her across the floor – unconsciously skimming the cutout back of her dress to touch her bare skin - Emma found herself getting quite warm.

She's led him outside under the guise of inspecting her automobile. Bae had mentioned considering to buy his own and Emma had continued suggesting he look at her's until he finally caved. Getting him in the backseat had been a larger undertaking. Sitting in the car to 'test the feel' covered the driver or passenger side seats but her maneuvering him to the back was pure luck – something she doubted could have happened had fate not intervened. Once he was sprawled out, she wasted no time; climbing on top of him; locking his mouth with her own. She'd heard the flappers' discussing 'petting' a couple of nights back – but hadn't realized why they would ever want to do 'that'. But now, with tongues exploring another's mouth; awkward hips grinding back and forth – Emma Swan was starting to see! Bae didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He kept reaching out to touch her but then was quick to pull back; balling hands into fists curled tightly to his side.

His hips had even stilled after the first unintentional thrusts- giving Emma just a taste of what was plausible before stopping altogether. She stopped her kisses with a pout; dislodging Bae's hands from his sides and placing both solidly on her hips.

"There," she stated firmly. Bae's cheeks reddened as he gazed up at her in awe; looking curiously precious with his hair a mess - 

Tentatively, one hand crept behind her; caressing her naked back. Lower and lower until it rested over her buttocks. When she held his gaze with determination, Bae gave her buttocks a gentle squeeze – eliciting a moan from the woman. As Bae continued to subtly massage her, Emma ground against him.

And he started thrusting against her again! Now with a delicious awareness of his actions!

His movements beneath became eager, surging her towards pleasure – until they heard a voice calling for Bae. They just had time to jump into opposite corners of the backseat and rearrange their clothing before August was standing at the side of the car.

"Sorry to interrupted ' _boss_ ' - but we need you in the cellar now! Jefferson and Whale just got back from New York."

"Of course," Bae said; running a hand through his hair. August had turned around - possibly to offer some privacy - as Bae moved to exit the car. Bae paused before closing the door, turning around to ask,

"Are you doing anything for lunch tomorrow, Emma? Could you possibly meet me at _the Palm Rooms_ or _the Garden Prier_ \- or someplace else… anywhere -"

" _The Palm Rooms_ sounds wonderful. One o'clock?"

Bae nodded, moving once again to follow his man towards the back of the house – only to catch Emma off guard when he stopped in his tracks; turning back and gliding towards her. Had he forgotten a watch or something in the backseat?

Upon reaching the car, Bae leaned over and grabbed her face with his hands - pulling her into a searing kiss that made her very toes curl in delight. When Bae pulled away, he said nothing; grinning all the way to the cellar. Emma touched her fingers to her swollen lips; happy that they had finally been put to proper use!


	5. Mayor Gold

Walking into his office at town hall, Gold inwardly groaned at the sight awaiting him: David Swan seated in a chair; sipping away at a cup of coffee.

"Morning, Gold –"

"Who the hell let you in here?"

"Manners, Gold."

"That's Mayor Gold to you now! And it's too bloody early to be dealing with this crap! See yourself out!"

David appeared unfazed by these outbursts. Quite used to them by now, he replaced his cup back on the saucer and reached for a plate of cake.

"I've heard some troubling reports this morning, Gold - about seeing barrels of beer being loaded onto trucks in an evening. Crates, clinging with bottles, exiting ships. Reputable establishments offering alcoholic beverages on the sly –"

"Well, you couldn't have expected everything to just go away overnight!"

"No - but seven months into Prohibition: I expected so much more! And some of the complaints come back to your law enforcement. People are suggesting they're turning a blind eye to everything; that maybe they're even getting a ' _cut_ ' to do so –"

"That is ridiculous! But – if it's such an important topic for you- please bring it up at the next council meeting: it is your right, of course!"

"Look Gold, I'm not trying to be a nuisance here. Just thought you'd like to hear about it and act before–"

"The Temperance League met yesterday afternoon, didn't they?"

" – and people might jump to 'corruption'. And that looks bad on the Party, the local government…and even the –"

"Your wife was the one feeding you these ' _reports_ ' over breakfast this morning – wasn't she? You made it sound like some type of public outcry! And it's really just Mary Margaret panic!"

"… she says they are from very reliable sources.."

"Hang her sources! I'm not married to the woman! I shouldn't have to listen to her prattle before I've had my coffee in the morning! – that's the job you've signed up for, Swan. You married a crazy one and you deal with her!"

Grunting all the way to his fine desk chair, Gold took a seat opposite Swan and started grumbling through stacks; trying to busy himself – hoping Swan would just show himself out. Finding that his valet had not yet brought in the day's letters, he grabbed the morning paper; carefully placing the print in front of his face to block his colleague.

" – I don't think my wife is wrong about this, Gold. I've seen the lights on the beaches at night – and had a waiter offer me a ' _swig of something nice_ ' at lunch two days ago.

"Pity you didn't take him up on that offer…"

"Look – at least sixty women probably repeated the information about these reports since the meeting yesterday. It's going to be going around town – and, be it serious or not, someone is going to have to deal with the aftermath-"

"Bootlegging isn't an issue in Atlantic City, Swan!"

A voice called from the other room an urgent "Papa" – the door to his office flew open: revealing his son; panting. Bae looked startled to find the other man perched on a chair opposite his father - lazily eating cake - and stopped in his tracks, staring between the two older men.

"Morning, Bae. Gosh! I haven't seen you in awhile –" said Swan with a kind smile.

"No… Mr. Swan – we haven't seen each other since… "

"Must have been a couple years ago -I believe it was shortly after your eighteenth birthday, right?"

Bae nodded. Swan sprung back around to grin at him again,

"They grow up so fast – don't they, Gold?"

He found himself grateful that Swan's back was to Bae again – shocked to find his son reddening; fidgeting in place. What the hell was going on?

"Aye, that they do.."

Swan turned back to Bae; serene smile still on his face, "So, what are you doing these days? I can think of several men who'd be interested in you working on their campaigns. If you can make this curmudgeon look like mayor-material, I can't imagine what you could do elsewhere!"

"Thank you, Mr. Swan – but…"

"Bae has no interest in public office – or a political career."

"Oh – that so? – What have you been up to then, Bae?"

Again with the blushing and stammering! Gold truly hoped this wasn't how his son behaved in front of his workers! The Gold men were not weak, little school boys – they needed to be powerful: in image and in deed.

When his son failed to issue any type of excuse over his current occupation - he was sure he'd raised the boy to at least manage a good lie when required! – he answered over his son's stuttering,

"Bae has decided to go into different business ventures; he was always suited for more 'spirited' endeavors," supplied Gold. Over Swan's shoulder, he saw his son's face light up with pride; he'd caught on to the compliment after all. As much as Bae was his world, Gold had to admit he must have been a difficult man to grow up with; to love. Compliments didn't always come spilling off his tongue. He was no charmer but honest; to the point of wearing the term 'curmudgeon' with pride.

Bae was the only thing that could have made him seem 'human' enough for the mayor's seat.

Bae had finally found his tongue again, sprouting off useless data about shipyards and steamers; the interests in trading overseas – he really had no idea where Bae came up with any of this but luckily David Swan wasn't the brightest of his constituents. He was buying every words and even seemed bored towards the end.

"That sounds like a marvelous venture for a young man, Bae. And you certainly seem to have a grip on the industry – but I really must be going."

David placed his partially finished cake on the desk, retrieving his hat and heading for the door.

" – But Bae - should you ever be interested in expanding your business into real estate – let me know. I'd only be too happy to help you set up."

The one thing he'd give Swan was that this was a sincere offer. Might be married to a loon -  his daughter a hell-cat driving about like a maniac -  but David Swan meant to help. Despite the many times he and Swan had butted heads over the years, he had no doubt the man would do anything possible to help Bae – perhaps rooted in knowing him as a child? When the three had first met, when Bae was ten or so, Swan had always made a point of bringing a sweet for him – right before he and Swan adjourned to the other room to scream over politics!

When Swan exited the room fully, Bae was quick to move; closing the door and locking it. Turning back to his father, he began,

"Jefferson has been shot! He and Whale returned last night from New York and Jefferson had a bullet in his arm! Had Whale not been a field medic during the war, I'm sure he'd be a goner!"

"Calm down, my boy –"

"No! I'm not going to calm down! You wanted them to send a message. You sent them there to antagonize those people – "

"And it looks like they saw to sending us a message back."

Bae threw himself into the now vacant chair in front of his father, running his hands through his hair.

"You can't- you can't be so calm about this, papa! Not even you!"

"They were trying to cheat us. Paying us nothing for the time or labor required to transport to New York."

"So… you knew this would happen? You let me send good men into a dangerous situation - just to make a point?"

"This whole business venture is 'a dangerous situation', Bae. It's better you realize that now and move pass it. Believe me – the men working for you are well aware of the danger and are paid accordingly!"

Bae sighed, shifting his feet like the little boy he used to be.

"A war is starting, Bae – much different than the Great War. I needed New York to fire the first shot. Now, we can recruit and play the 'victim card'. That we're simple business men that were wronged by gangsters!"

"We are gangsters – aren't we papa?"

Gold swallowed, uncomfortable with that certain term. He may be a crooked politician; a villain, heartless slime from the gutter – but Bae was certainly not!

"We're business men, Bae."

"That's just semantics, papa. You know it. I know it."

Shaking his head in defeat, Gold opened one of his lower drawers – retrieving a gun he'd saved for a rainy day.

"Here – I want you to have this on your person at all time. I truly hope you never have to use it; just show it to get your point across."

He slide the firearm across the polished surface of the desk – slowly, grasping the implication of giving it to his only child; his boy. Bae hesitated for a moment before standing, stashing the gun away deep in his suit jacket.

"Good – now, I'm sending you to Chicago for a few weeks –"

"I can't go away to Chicago for a few weeks – papa, I'm needed –"

"I can oversee most of your duties while you're away – and some of your men don't seem completely useless. The train leaves at noon –"

"No! I can't leave this afternoon. There has to be a later train-  I'll go. I'll be a figurehead and charm every connection you send my way but – I have plans this afternoon."

For a moment, Gold considered fighting him on this. One afternoon wasn't too much a sacrifice when their family's legacy was at stake. But Bae seemed determined. Flipping to the back pages of the newspaper, Gold announced,

"Fine. But your plans better be finished by three this afternoon – or else you'll miss an entire day in Chicago and I have many plans for you-"

Bae raced to the other side of the desk, grabbing his papa and pulling him into a hug.

"Thank you, papa!"

"I need you to meet with the Spencer family in Chicago – Albert Spencer owns casinos all along the Midwest and has ties to smuggling along Lake Michigan… I need his ' _friendship_ ' if we're to overthrow New York –"

"And we'll control Jersey and New York – you really do plan your wars with precision."

He noted the sarcasm from his son. What had he expected?

"There's no choice, son – we control the market or they kill us. Every family we'll be dealing with is working under the radar of the law – a murder or two isn't going to faze them."

The telephone sounded. Bae sat on top of the desk, arms folded as he waited for his papa to answer.

"Mayor Gold speaking-"

" _Mr. Gold, there's been some type of misunderstanding between our men – silly really, but things got a little out of hand –_ " rang an ethereal woman's voice. 

"Wouldn't count a man shot as 'out of hand' or 'silly'," snapped Gold. 

" _No but – someone reacted; someone got a broken nose – and unfortunately someone took a bullet. Your guy alright_?"

"I'd rather your man had a broken neck than nose…"

" _Look, Mr. Gold – you're a businessman…so am I. I say we leave this unfortunate business behind us and move on. It will not happen again._ "

"You're right – I am a business man. And it will never happen again."

" _So – truce then,_ " the voice purred into the receiver. 

"Awaiting your most recent payment as we speak."

With that, Gold slammed the phone backing on the table. Bae's eye brows raised in question.

"Nothing's changed, Bae. I still need you in Chicago by tomorrow morning."

"But papa –"

"They've just realized their error; that I can now mobilize against them. They'd string us along for a few months – robbing us blind and waiting for us to break this deal. Tomorrow morning you'll be meeting Spencer at one of his brothels – he even offered to put you up at his boardinghouse."

Moving for the door, Bae answered, "Goodbye then, papa. I won't let you down –"

"Have a nice afternoon...  doing whatever it is you'll be doing –" But Bae was already out the door and clambering down the stairwell when Gold uttered under this breath,

"- You never let me down, son."


	6. Bae

The first time Bae dined at _the Palm Rooms_ , he thought he was in a jungle! He had been fourteen and papa agreed that he was now old enough to behave and dine at such a fancy place. The nursemaid had forced him into a fine suit; carnation in the lapel to match his papa. The furniture was all white wicker. The place settings the finest crystal Bae had ever seen. Exotic plants grew around the tables; reaching high into the ceiling. And, his favorite part, the glass ceiling offering up light for every inch of the room.

Women, in their afternoon's best, chattering amongst the tables – the feathers in their hats fueling his 'jungle' fantasy; becoming wild birds of unnatural colors. Colors that couldn't be found in Jersey! Men smoking and enjoying the ambiance – elaborate beards becoming lions and tigers in a child's head. The starched waiters were penguins – but that didn't make sense! Penguins didn't come from the jungle!

Whatever his childhood dreamed up for the place, looking over the scene, adult Bae decided it was the perfect place.

He was led to his table and offered the menu with every courtesy – he wondered in the back of his head if it was because of his papa. Emma hadn't arrived yet. He checked his pocket watch, finding it was exactly one o'clock! He started tapping his foot; rearranging his silverware only to quickly replace it where it was – not wanting it to be a mess when -

He checked his watch again. A minute after! _The Palm Rooms_ ' were crowded; a hum of conversation flooding from end to end. He craned his neck; rising as far up as he could (while still in his seat) to see over the mob.

Just when he was starting to worry; wondering if this was really just some 'brush off' – he noticed her entering from the hall. Still long-legged, but a more modest length of dress than what he'd been seeing in the evenings. Her bobbed hair curling out from a straw, cloche hat. She paused at the entrance, turning her head to and fro until their eyes met.

And she smiled at him- causing the blood to drain from his face as warmth spread to his toes. She seemed overjoyed; racing over towards him. He caught himself in time; rising to his feet to help her into a chair, sliding the chair out for her.

She thanked him as he returned to the opposite chair.

"Sorry to be so late."

"Oh –" he sweeped his hand about, trying to indicate what he wanted to say. When her eyebrow shot up – he realized he'd failed, uttering, "It's not a big deal. I'm just happy you could come."

"So am I."

Her eyes met his, holding the gaze; filled with raw passion. Bae started to pull at his collar. Luckily for him, the waiter arrived with their tea.

Both paused to take a sip; trying to figure out where to start. They were likely embarking into something new - but the pristine _Palm Rooms_ was a harsh reminder of the correct behavior that had been breed into both since birth. Bae willed himself into not remembering how it felt to have her seated atop him - backseats of cars should surely be stripped from anyone's thoughts at proper luncheons! 

"So, Emma – what do you do when you're not running around clubs and parties? What are your past-times?"

"I suppose the usual, really," she said with a laugh. "I play tennis. Attend League meetings and charity functions. Oh, and drive about in my car! I love a nice, long drive! How about you?"

" – honestly, I don't really have much time for hobbies these days. Always loved reading, though."

"Oh, and what do you read? Travel and shipping logs?"

Bae laughed, "No – bit too stale for me. Novels and poetry mainly – something for the imagination!"

"Indeed," replied Emma with a smirk; a knowing smirk at that. Bae had a terrifying feeling that Emma Swan might be thinking about her backseat at the moment - dressed and behaving with every inch of respectability as she kept smirking knowingly back at him. It was terrifyingly exciting to witness the duality; a wickedness playing against a young woman who carried herself with every inch of well-bred refinement. Emma Swan was startling exciting, Bae decided. Throughout the meal, as Bae continued to observe her, he found himself needing to discover more - 

"Felix is having the gang over tomorrow night for a soiree," Emma prattled nervously. "– will you be attending?"

The mischievous air, matched by equally innocent and hopeful eyes, almost broke Bae's heart. He hated to admit, "I – I'll be out of town for awhile.."

"Oh." Emma dropped her fork, taking sip of her tea to avoid his gaze. "Will you be gone for long," she inquired with a forced air of nonchalance. 

"I honestly don't know. I hope not," assured Bae. 

"So – it's a business related trip," surmised Emma. 

"Yes. Trying to branch-out my trading connections -"

"Where?"

It was such a honest question; an innocent interest in where'd he be – when by all right he should be by her side at whatever party she decided to attend! But Bae paused; questioning if he should tell her; if she'd be safe with that information-

"I'm heading up to Chicago… hoping to get some investments in Canadian trading options."

He may be imagining it - but she seemed disappointed. By the distance or the fact he was leaving at all, Bae could not tell. He tried to cheer her up, "Why don't I bring some new music back – and we can play it at the next party we're both - ."

"Will you dance with me again?"

He knew he wasn't a good dancer; he was awkward already without adding a rhythm and structured movement – but the hope appearing in her eyes won him over.

"Very well, I'll dance with you – I'd be proud to! So long as I don't trod on your toes-"

"Don't worry," she said with a smirk. "I can handle it!"

He had no doubt she could!

"And Bae – you must recommend a good book for when you're away. Something to occupy my mind."

His mind became crazed; propelling through catalogues of his readings – searching for the perfect novel. It needed to be romantic, he knew that! Something to get his point across… but he passed up just romance novels. Emma Swan needed something of substance; something shocking! Thrilling! She needed a challenge; thrived on it!

"I think I have an idea – I can send someone over later with a copy."

"Not even a hint? An explanation of why you chose it?"

"Nope – but we can discuss it when I return. So you better have it finished soon!"

"And when you return we'll dance to new music and discuss this book –"

Bae nodded, reaching for his cup of tea.

"- and how about we go for a drive some afternoon? You did seem quite content in the back of my car –, " her voice trailed off as she smirked once again at him. 

Bae spit out the drink; choking. He was certain he was dying as Emma sat there toying with him. Other patrons turned around to see what the disturbance was. When he finally calmed, Emma pressed the matter; firmly announcing her own enjoyment with enthusiasm. 

He finally caved. "…-alright. We can – we'll go on a drive as well.."

"A long drive. _Drives_ really, come to think on it - maybe to the beach?"

"Yes – long _drives_."

Emma beamed, "I am contented then. Just so long as you hurry back!"

"I assure you – I'll be by your side again shortly."

"And write me. Maybe, if I like your letters well enough, I'll write you back." She actually had the gull to wink at him over this prospect!


	7. Albert Spencer

Albert Spencer was the man to know in Chicago. Came from a high-end family that owned the town. He could have conquered the political arena too – had he the inclination. But he was quick to learn, as a young man, who really held the power. And it sure as hell wasn't the politicians of the world! No – it was the innovators! The men figuring out what the times wanted and supplying it.

When he realized the modern man wanted to gamble; to throw hard-earned dollars down the drain on a whim - he preyed on this weakness. On all men's weaknesses. Pretty girls worked the floor; all carrying the directions to flirt with each and every customer; make them feel like the most important man in the room – if only for a moment. He had dolls running the tables, dancing on stages, upstairs in the brothels, and even serving the drinks.

Alcohol, though - now that was the most important factor for any successful casino!

When a man was winning; he'd drink in victory! – and over time become sloppier in his thinking; desperate to gain that rush of the winner yet again.

A man losing from the start was easier for the girls to ply drinks down. The loser wanted to feel happy, to feel lighter.

By the end of the night, most men had already lost at the tables, drunk way too much, and were ready to take a girl upstairs to find some type of release.

And Albert would survey the entire mess from on high; tallying off the money going into his own personal pocket.

The trick was to keep the alcohol coming in! Canada had been a strong supplier but the Gold family had promised he wouldn't be disappointed with their offer; a partnership that kept the alcohol passing between them – but also helped both against a common enemy.

His greed brought him here today – dressed in black and standing over the coffin of his only son. His house was filled with grievers, the wake a success by every standard; fine food, not a dry face in sight, black fabric draped over every surface, trailing up the staircase his boy used to slide down as a child.. everything was perfect– except for the reason they had all gathered. His Jamie was gone. He knew he wasn't a perfect father, that his boy had grown into a vain; mean-tempered man, but he found himself pleading to a merciful God to take him instead. He was the one beyond change – but Jamie could learn! Better himself and be a good man!

But God ignored him.

Instead, he had to stand and greet imbeciles. Thank them for their condolences as they ate his food. When Bae Gold approached him, it was towards the end of the wake. Albert was shocked to find the fool still in town. He'd been out with Jamie and his men when that son of a bitch drew his gun and killed his boy! While Spencer men raced after the fucker; trying to bring him to justice – Bae Gold had apparently stayed by Jamie's side. Until the very end.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Spencer."

He'd learned quickly that Gold men didn't like to lie – not when they could help it, at least. They'd rather talk their way around a lie. Gold's son wasn't going to sprout out, ' _he was a good man_ ' – hell! Bae Gold had to have know first hand what a jackass his boy had been. Jamie had been showing the younger Gold around town for weeks now - 

"No man should have to bury his son – I'm sure your father would agree."

"I'm sure he would, sir."

"You got a son, Gold?"

"No, sir."

"Then I hope, someday – when you find out your first son's been born and look down at that little life for the first time – you'll remember this day; recall how easily life can be taken away.."

Kid had no response to that one, shifting his feet and looking down. Albert turned his head left and right, finding the room abandoned as the grievers either headed into the parlor for more food or had left the wake by now.

"I assume you'll be heading back to Atlantic City now – you've already been here for almost a month."

Bae Gold nodded, looking up once again.

"Tell your father I'm in – we're going to make New York bleed."


	8. Emma: the Jolly Flapper

Emma finished the book and still Bae had not returned.

She'd foregone Felix's soiree – her youthful and romantic heart declaring dancing with any other man unthinkable. The first couple of days, she'd spent afternoons playing tennis with Alexa and evenings curled up on the chaise, Bae's suggested novel in hand. Her father did not understand her sudden diligence. But – it felt like the sooner she finished the book, the faster he'd return.

Two nights after she finished ' _A Room With A View_ ', and still no letter from him, she escaped upstairs and donned a playful evening gown and heeled shoes. Even fixed her hair with a feathered headpiece. Announcing her departure to her parents in the parlor with, "I have a Youth Council meeting tonight –" she climbed into the yellow Rolls Royce and sped off into the night.

Her next few nights were spent like the previous months – before she fancied herself in love! Dancing, drinking, music, and flirting. Refusing to take anything too seriously – if she did, she'd wonder what he was doing – and with who! And that was far too painful to dwell on.

She retreated back into the persona of the jolly-flapper.

Until a month after _the Palm Rooms'_ luncheon - when she once again found Bae dark eyes locked on her from across a crowded room. The moment their eyes met, she turned away. Back to the two cohorts she was having a laugh with: Felix and August. Emma sipped her champagne; bantered back and forth with August. Answered his friendly flirting with playful smiles – but Bae Gold kept watching her! When Emma moved to cross the room alone, to locate Alexa and try to leave the party entirely – she felt a hand take her by the elbow; stalling her.

"Emma – it's good to see you again. How have you been?"

"I've been very well, Mr. Gold. Had you a pleasant trip? Be it business or not!"

He looked confused by her tone – and her subtle suggestion that he wasn't conducting business at all in Chicago. With him silenced, not even trying to deny or explain, Emma pulled her arm away and started to walk.

"You must excuse me, Mr. Gold. Victor claims to have an interesting story to tell: and I plan to listen!"

Instead of taking the hint and leaving her be, Bae Gold pulled her out into the hallway - she'd claim being manhandled if he hadn't been so polite afterwards, apologizing as he pressed, "I've only just got back tonight, Emma –"

"And all letters got lost in the mail I assume?"

"Here –" he took a stack of envelops out of his breast pocket. "I did write… things just got a little - ." He pressed the letters into her palm and then continued to hold her hands between his.

"Very well," she stammered. "I'll read them when I have the time." She tried to retreat back into the room – but he wouldn't let go.

"Emma! Wait! – did you like the book?"

"Yes – I did. I even looked up more of his books at the library. Seems like E.M. Forester is utterly depressing, though. All his characters are miserable! Stuck in a life they've never wanted to live! Dead babies –"

"All except ' _A Room With A View_ ' – that one was always so… hopeful for me. Lucy and George have a chance –"

His eye suddenly filled with sadness – he seemed utterly lost; finally within arms reach and yet miles away - 

"What's wrong, Bae?"

"I – I saw a man get shot in Chicago."

"Good God!"

"- He died right in front of me."

He broke-down in her arms; sobbing into her shoulder.

He needed her.

They found themselves an empty bedroom upstairs. She discovered his cries stopped when she began to kiss him on the bed. Bae ran his hands through her hair; along her cheek bones. When their lips parted, he regarded her with a smile on his lips; like a man dying of thirst would look at a mirage. His source of hope was unreliant - a silly girl at best. But Emma played along in their mutually selfish game - relishing her part as Bae's savior; his sanity! 

He kept stumbling over words; trying to articulate whatever he was feeling. But Emma silenced his awkward attempts- pulling him into another kiss instead. When they separated again, she trailed kisses down his face and neck; untying his bowtie and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt – getting rid of anything and everything that got in her path to skin.

He kept whispering into her ear that he loved her; that she was his hope.

He was broken and she was going to fix him! With each kiss, each touch – she could make everything better, she just knew it! This was love, after all!

She continued to kiss him back; fiercely. Vying ever for more. Her dress was gone shortly, stockings rolled down and heels lodged against the far wall. Left only in her chemise, Emma sighed when Bae removed a strap from her shoulder; his lips latching onto her collarbone.

Both uninhibited; they kept grinding their hips against the other; sexes meeting and sending Emma into spasms of pleasure. She shivered when she felt his fingers tickle along her thighs; opening her up for him. Gently, he parted her folds and began thumbing the little nub he found there. Panting, she threw back her head; arching her hips up to give him a better vantage.

When Emma got to the point where the friction was delightfully relentless, she tried to discern how it could be remedied; needing these feelings to boil over and send her into orgasm. And Nature's answer seemed to rest in unbuckling Bae's belt and pulling his trousers to the floor. With his member released, his fine starched shirt still on, her step-in hiked above her belly - the straps lowered to show her pert breast, Emma dragged Bae on top of her; grinding their sexes in complete abandon.

Hearing him voice pleasure, still going on and on about loving her - _her being his hope_ \- Emma reached downward to take his cock in hand; positioning him at her entrance. When he stilled all motion, looking at her for confirmation – Emma nodded. She felt a pinch at first; a dull ache that she could still contribute chiefly to wantonness. But then he surged his hips forward and Emma felt a tearing inside. It hurt. Nearly knocking the breath out of her lungs.

She schooled her face to hide the pain; not wanting him discouraged or anything to stop. His kept moving over her; back and forth, in and out. At first, she found herself massaging him along the base of his neck in encouragement. But she quickly picked up the rhythm; rocking against him; arching herself up from the bed each time he reentered her. Her moaning and moving against him seemed to be just what he needed – grinning down at her, he picked up the pace. She felt the coil once again in her loins as he bucked against her.

When he stilled, throwing his head back and releasing a grunt from deep within his throat, Emma felt a wetness entering her.

Bae leaned in for a kiss as he removed himself; turning over to lay opposite her on the bed. Both exhausted but happy - staring at the ceiling as they processed the moment. Gaining her thoughts back first, Emma curled into his side; desiring them to be touching even in small ways still. Bae threaded his fingers through her short hair - muffled kisses and sweet words as both willed to have the moment go on forever. But sooner than later - their tryst would end. They'd be forced to rejoin the party downstairs.

Almost dizzy still from making love, she heard Bae quote E.M. Forester – George Emerson, of course,

" _It's fate. Everything is fate…_ "

And Emma truly wanted to believe it so. 


	9. Papa Gold

Gold had never been one for weddings. The emotions people seemed to think natural on such days completely lost on him. His own wedding had been a train-wreck! Millie and he may have been happy for the day; for the months that followed – but knowing now what would happen, it definitely wasn't worth all the frustration.

The only good thing to come from that whole mess was Bae.

When his son returned from Chicago, Gold knew the war was starting. If Spencer was ready to burn New York to the ground, so was he!

He awoke to feet hammering down the hallway; running towards his bedroom.

When his son had raced into his bedroom at 5 o'clock in the morning a month after his return, Gold thought the war had started. Bae was out of breath, panting against the door – Bae's suit indicating he'd only just returned home from a night at the speak. Reaching for his dresser drawer, where Gold had kept a stock of weapons waiting, he was stilled when his son announced,

"I'm getting married, papa!"

Gold stared at his boy, the smile spanning Bae's entire face. After saying nothing, unable to even voice his thought of ' _like hell you are_ ', Bae exited the room with a spring to his step; giddy as a schoolgirl.

"What the hell is going on?"

Gold shook the sleep from his head, sitting in bed trying to analyze the situation. Bae had been acting strange since returning from Chicago. Where he expected Bae to be more serious about the business the boy had been…

... in love. Shit!

There had to be a way around this. Maybe buy off the girl? Bae had stayed in Spencer's brothel/boardinghouse when away. And Bae did have the temperament to latch onto a whore – to want to be the hero saving a damsel from a fate worse then death! Or maybe some dancer from the club!

Good God! He threw back his comforter and started preparing himself for the day. There was absolutely no way he could sleep with his son's impending doom dancing around in his head. He had to find some way to right it!

Returning home later that evening, Gold was surprised to find Bae still there – and a long-legged blonde sitting by his side in the parlor. His son whispering into her ear as she laughed. Her hair was cut too short but dress a modest enough length – she wasn't the obvious slut he'd been dreaming up all day.

"Papa, I'd like you to meet Emma Swan – my fiancée."

"Mayor Gold," she rose to her feet and outstretched her hand. "It's wonderful to see you again."

Emma Swan. The final nail in the coffin!

The kids had organized a dinner at the Swan residence; a time for Gold and Swan families to sit down and discuss the wedding plans – both had been incredibly insistent that the wedding happen within the month!

Gold hadn't been invited into the Swan's house since his first visit. After a dinner with David and Mary Margaret ended up in a verbal assault – between himself and that woman, David on the outskirts trying to calm both parties; he's heard Mary Margaret declaring that 'he'd never set a foot into my house again' as he exited the front door. And she'd lived up to that so well for the years since. David had come to his home when it required they met – all until now.

Mary Margaret sat across from him at the table, sulking as she regarded him once again at her table! He was certain, had she not been moved by every ounce of decorum ingrained in her since birth, she'd have her arms crossed and be pouting like a spoiled child.

When Mary Margaret supplied to the children's plans, "Perhaps the wedding can wait; a couple of months at least. This just seems too sudden – and there's nothing wrong with a long engagement; get to know each other better … your father and I were engaged for over two years; and that was after a long courtship –"

Gold could have kissed the woman! At least in this they finally agreed!

If the kids wanted to consider themselves in love for a season or two – so be it! But there was absolutely no way this could be a happy couple. Gold refused to believe anything with a drop of his blood in his veins could be content with the product of David and Mary Margaret Swan!

"We're certain, mama!"

"But I always saw you being a spring bride! ' _Happy is the bride of spring -_ ' "

"Well, mama – it's going to be a ' _happy spring bride_ ' in late autumn, then."

He had to hand it to his future daughter-in-law: she wasn't one to be derailed. Neither of them yielded. The wedding would be in a couple weeks, as soon as they could book the Swan family's church for a morning. Celebrations afterwards would be held at the Swan's house. Emma had wanted a lawn party and picnic in the backyard but had relented when her mother brought up that, "… lawn parties are for _spring brides_. It's far too cold in late autumn – what if it should rain? Or even an early snow? Now – if both of you are willing to wait until May –"

Neither was willing to wait. They were married in a church two weeks later. The church had been packed with well- wishers; Gold huddled by himself in the corner. Mary Margaret had blubbered the entire ceremony – going into all out wails when the couple was presented as 'Mr. and Mrs. Gold'. He liked to imagine the wails were a result of the words reminding her that they were now a family – he needed something to make him smile when he clasped his son into a hug and congratulated him. For what? He really couldn't say. But at least divorces were easier to come by now and days. Gold already had his lawyer looking into the matter -

Until he noticed his new daughter-in-law's behavior during the reception. Always adjusting her dress over her middle – and far more layers of fabric then he thought fashionable amongst young women these days. After one dance with her new husband she was winded; complaining she was dizzy as Bae helped her to a chair. And, towards the end of the party - as he searched out his son for a final goodbye - he stumbled into the kitchens, finding Emma leaning into the sink; vomiting.

He retreated back into the party, standing against a wall and putting the pieces together as David Swan came up beside him.

"Where is my wife, Gold?" muttered Swan out of the corner of his mouth.

" – if you can't even keep track of your own wife –" Gold started, only to have Swan motioning him into the study. With the door closed behind them, David reached for the top of a bookshelf – bringing forth a bottle of fine whiskey.

"Mary Margaret is never to hear of this," Swan retrieved two glasses as well, pouring generous servings of the whiskey into both. "And if you so much as even hint: don't be offended when I come after you with everything I've got!"

Gold nodded, taking glass in hand as Swan continued,

"I thought the kids deserved a proper toast, even if it's only between us: To our children! May they have a long, happy life together!"

"To our children!" Gold returned, clinging his glass against Swan's. Little did David Swan realize that they'd be in a similar situation soon enough, toasting this time to their children's child. Just as soon as Emma and Bae thought a pregnancy dismissible – that no one would be counting down the days.


	10. Mrs. Bae Gold

Emma knew she was lucky. Every morning, she'd wake up in the penthouse apartment she shared with her husband. She'd cook breakfast and join either her mother or Alexa at the boardwalk – a brisk walk apparently ideal for her 'delicate state', or so mama insisted.

She'd attend Temperance League meetings, charity functions, and luncheons like the society girl she had been breed to be. Emma pretended to blush when old family-friends gushed over her being already with child; praising her for being as fertile as her mama had been. Thanking them, part of her wanted to scream! Could they not see the pain in her mother's eyes – at being deemed 'fertile' but never able to have the many children she and father had probably dreamed of?

Her mother's eyes grew from worry to fear as Emma's belly grew in size. Emma understood only partly how difficult her entering the world had been – understanding the aftermath far more then the actual event. But she allowed her mother to be overly inventive; looking into all the modern research for expecting mothers and readying for a new life – most information not available nineteen years ago. Bae joked that mama was a 'busy-body' but Emma allowed her mother to take care of her; enjoying the comfort and attention they could still share even while living apart.

Every night she'd curl up with a book, waiting for Bae to come home. He'd finally admitted what exactly he was 'trading' – having to explain why he wouldn't be home until late some nights; that it was just business. And she believed him. He didn't go into details, but she'd learned his cohorts – the ships he worked with. It all seemed rather simple: he'd transport alcohol to different interested parties and reap the rewards. It may have been illegal but she didn't find the same repulsion as her mama.

And why should she question it when he returned home every night; kissing her in greeting before dropping to his knees to kiss her belly; talking to their unborn child?

It was a sweet life and one she thought would only get better.

One afternoon, mama was helping her set up the nursery. She had laughed at Emma's insistence, joking that there was plenty of time for that. But Emma knew the baby would be here at least a solid month before her mother was factoring – and her movements had already become deprived through fatigue and a large belly.

Both stood around samples of fabric draped over a crib when Emma heard the phone ringing in the hallway; across from Bae's study.

She left her mother in the nursery and headed for the receiver; answering,

"Hello, Gold residen –"

" _Hang it girl, I know who've I called!_ "

Great! Her father-in-law was in full force this afternoon.

"What can I do for you, papa-Gold?"

She could almost hear his face contorting into pain and annoyance over the nickname. Honestly, she knew had the endearment not bothered him so – and made Bae laugh – she'd never use it in a million years!

" _Look girl – Bae's been arrested! The FBI has taken him in for questioning – in relation to some trading issues. Seem to think not everything has been perfectly legal._ "

"I can be at the police station in five minutes –"

" _No, no! You don't understand! They'll be at the apartment soon – looking for incriminating information; account logs, lists of suppliers… they cannot find any of this. If Bae has been keeping such records, they need to disappear in the next five minutes!_ "

"I understand…"

She heard him smashing his phone down; the dial tone returning as she placed her own phone once again on the end table; crutching the sides of the table to keep her balance.

Her mother entered the hall, "Something wrong, Emma?"

Pushing herself up into a strong stance, Emma replied, "No mama, nothing is wrong. Bae is just having to work late tonight. Could I possibly dine with you and daddy? Baby and I seem to be craving Johanna's pork chops."

"Oh – of course! I'll even leave now to pick some up at the butchers. Why don't you lay down for a bit? You look so pale – I can send the driver over for you at five?"

"That sounds wonderful – thank you."

With her mother gone, Emma raced into the study; throwing open drawers as she searched through paperwork. Bae had been very diligent in his record keeping. Several lists of suppliers – and the suppliers' suppliers! Data accounts starting back more than a year ago– the first evening of Prohibition! She gathered the sheets into her arms, leaving only their household account records in the drawers, and raced into the nursery. Emma hid the records inside the little mattress of the crib - 

She jumped when she heard a hard knock on their door but managed to control her nerves; breathing deeply, she moved for the door. Pausing before opening, she reached around and tied the ribbon around the waist of her dress a little tighter; enhancing her heavy belly. She knew she needed to work the angle of 'the little wife'. And, if these men weren't good enough to go easy on a pregnant woman, at least fear of her going into labor could factor in.

Contorting her face from determination into a shy fear, Emma opened the front door.

"Good afternoon, officers – Can I help you?"

"We are addressing Mrs. Bae Gold?"

"Yes –"

"I'm going to have to ask you to step aside, Mrs. Gold – we have a warrant to search your home."

"May I see this warrant?"

The officer seemed shocked by her request but turned over the sheet of paper. Emma read through it with ease, eyes catching the important clause.

"This is a warrant for searching my husband's office – his study is the first door to the left; down the hallway. Help yourselves."

The officer looked livid – and Emma wondered how many wives had been tricked, had stood by the side as their homes were torn apart. Not this one, though!

She stood in the main room, rubbing her hand over belly, as the officers trotted down the hall- she could hear them ripping open the drawers; empting Bae's prized book shelf – she panicked for a moment that there may be something there; it seemed like a place Bae would hide things… but an hour later they marched back to the main room; defeated.

"Can I get any of you a cup of coffee before you leave?"

They all shook their heads, but the leader once again stepped forward.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to allow us to search the rest –"

"Not at all," Emma replied with a smile; opening the door for all of them. "But see if you can get a proper search warrant next time!"

With the door shut in his face, Emma walked down the hall – and found that none had attempted to put the mess back to right; drawers left in the middle of the floor – Bae's books thrown about; fanning from where officers had been searching inside. She didn't even know where to start in fixing the space, closing the door and heading for their bedroom instead. She laid on the bed, caressing her belly as she breathed in and out; trying to control her anger and worry.

When Bae stumbled into the apartment late that night, Emma could finally release a sigh. He moved to her seat by the fire, lowering to his knees to kiss her belly.

"I'm sorry –"

"You don't have to apologize, Bae."

"You shouldn't have had to deal with –"

"I'm your wife; your partner; your cohort. I have your back just like you have mine."

To emphasize her point, she brought forth the stack of papers that had been hidden in the crib; papers she'd been reading through ever since she'd returned from dinner with her parents.

"I love you, Bae – but why were you keeping such detailed records about your criminal dealings? You will never do this again! Nothing on paper anymore, understood?  Keep the records of our business dealings in your head!"

She rose to her feet, throwing the stack of papers into the fire. Moving to sit on the floor; in Bae's arms, they both watched the fire burn all evidence the FBI hoped to have over him.

" – wait! What do you mean 'our business dealings'? Emma- "

"Consider me your new business partner. Now – tell me everything you haven't already."

Moving forward, he kissed her forehead; arm reaching around to stroke the baby, "Believe it or not – it's a bit more than me running alcohol from place to place.."

"I managed to figure that much out already, Bae. But please: continue!"

"There is a woman, who used to work for my papa – a Madame-"

"Does that mean she worked for a whorehouse?"

"…Yes – she ran houses of ill-repute for my papa. Chiefly out of Cincinnati, Ohio. But then – her daughter branched out. Moved to New York and started getting into other things, making connections with some big-wig politicians. Now both of them rule New York – control men on both sides of the law to do their bidding –"

"And they've tipped off the FBI about you? That's what happened today?"

"I don't know Emma – papa seems to think so. What matters is: we are at war with the Mills family. The mother despises papa – wants to see him suffer! And papa…papa wants control over New York, the far-reaching influence they've managed to snag."

"So – we're going to take over New York then?"

"Yeah –"

"Shouldn't be too hard with me at your side!"

Bae laughed, pulling Emma in for a kiss; they both continued to watch the fire until the embers burned out.


	11. The Boss

It was St. Valentine's day when Bae drove up to one of the warehouse. August had apparently been trying to reach him all morning: telephoning all the clubs and finally Emma. Bae'd been doing the rounds; trying to ensure that everyone was supplied for the evening's festivities – there was no way he'd be working on his first Valentine's Day with Emma! When he stopped to pump gas across from the spillway, a boy came running up – a kid Bae knew belonged to one of his runners.

"Boss! Hey, boss! August's says you're to get to the North Shore warehouse- now!"

When Bae arrived, he sat in his car outside the warehouse; pausing to calm himself for whatever lay in store. He always had to present that vibe for his workers; to let them believe everything was under control. Lighting up a cigarette, he opened the car door – Emma's car. She may have insisted it was now _their_ car but Bae knew he was only keeping it in commission. Once the baby had arrived, Emma would be driving these roads like the devil-himself yet again. But Mary Margaret claimed Emma's driving a danger for the baby - and Bae had to admit the truth in that. 

Bae took a long drag before moving to open the warehouse door- finding a crowd of men gathered around August.

Moving to stand next to his second-in-command, Bae asked the crowd,

"What's the problem, gents?"

"We've been jacked," answered August; fuming like the hothead he was. It was always a personal affront for him – things that Bae rationalize as just business. "They took an entire shipment! Bunch of guys with masks and guns barricaded the road –"

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Not one. They didn't even have to shoot-off a couple of rounds. Guys just abandoned-ship the moment they saw guns!"

Suddenly, all the men were talking; voicing their excuses and trying to justify themselves. All the while August ranting and raving. Raising his hands to silence them, Bae grabbed a hold of August and pulled him into the back office. Not before telling the runners to stay put,

"No one is to leave this building!"

Slamming the door closed, Bae turned to August.

"How bad is the loss?"

" – everything we were dispatching to Northern Jersey. Almost 1,000 crates of booze. Locally, every restaurant and clubs' been handled; it wasn't a complete loss but –"

"Substantial," Bae paused to puff on his cigarette. "Have you contacted my father yet?"

"Nope – but I can –"

"Don't. We're going to handle this in-house. And retaliate fast. We can't let every hick with a gun think we're fair game-"

"It wasn't just any ' _hick_ ', buddy," August reached into his breast pocket; bringing forth a bright red envelop.

"They left this with the men – for you."

Bae snatched it out of August's hands, ripping the seal and finding – a valentine! An elaborate, store-bought card filled to the brim of pictures of cherubs, hearts, and flowers. The pastel colors and images almost revolting to eye! Bae flipped the card open to find a short message, in bold cursive lettering,

 

**_Hugs and kisses, family-man._ **

**_Love always, Regina_ **

 

Below the name was the imprint of a perfect pair of lips. In bright, garish red lip-rouge: a deadly kiss.

"Ah- so the Mills family is finally coming for us," said August, craning his neck to look over Bae's shoulder.

"Appears to be – were any of our men armed today?"

"Nope – just a basic delivery. Most of the guys were just dock workers looking for a few extra –"

"That's not going to be happening anymore. I want every man carrying from this point on – supply the guns ourselves if we must. Have those with military experience training the rest so we don't have any mishaps."

"Yes, sir!"

"And ring up every guy you can think of who can handle a gun – get them here within the hour."

August hesitated for a moment before racing out of the room, barking orders at the men. Bae heard August yell, "Any of you been in the army?" before he moved to close the door. Sitting at the desk, taking another drag of his cigarette, Bae picked up the phone and dialed for his apartment. Emma picked up after a few rings,

"Gold residence," she announced in a cheerful voice.

"Afternoon, sweetheart! And how is my darling wife doing this fine day?"

"She is running around like a madwoman trying to put out fires her mama caused. My mama has offended half the town with her new initiative!"

"And how is baby? Being kinder to their mama than yesterday?"

"Not in the least. Kicking up a storm and nudging me throughout my meetings – we might be dealing with a wild child here!"

Bae found himself grinning at that but it quickly slipped; knowing why he called.

"I hate having to do this, Emma – you know I adore you; you are the sunlight of my existence – I'll love you forever –"

"But?"

"I'm going to have to work tonight. There's absolutely no way around it – everything has to be settled in the next few hours."

There was a pause on the other end of the phone. Bae waited for the reply, trying to decipher the silence for meaning.

"- that's alright. I can give the reservations to Alexa and some beau. Baby has me too fatigued anyway! I doubt I'd be much fun… "

"You'll always be a firecracker and you know it!"

She laughed. "We can light up the town next year. Eat, drink, and be merry - when I'm not carrying the extra girth."

"That's my girl!"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

"Be careful!"

With that, she hang up the phone. Coming clean about the family business, having her know everything, had certainly helped their marriage. But – tonight he wished she didn't know so much, hadn't been so engrossed in the interworkings; that she actually could believe he was just sitting in an office somewhere: safe.

He sighed, replacing his phone on the desk before reaching for his own gun. His papa had made sure Bae didn't go to war – his legal adulthood falling right towards the end. He'd been sent to college instead. All interest in enlistment dodged by his papa without batting an eye. But Bae made sure he knew how to hold and fire a gun after his papa gave it to him. For the first few weeks in Chicago, the weight of the gun had felt like a nuisance; something he was certain just his papa's paranoia setting in again. But – he learned the moment the bullet wiped through the air, knocking Jamie Spencer to the ground, that was not the case. This was the life he was living – this was his family at stake!

The thought of Emma and the baby; the danger they were in – if the Mills family decided to make it personal – everything factored into Bae holding the gun; hands unshaking; eyes unflinching.

He rode passenger in August's car. Behind them, a caravan of cars holding fifty men: each one armed and ready. As he instructed, each car carried barrels of gasoline.

The one tidbit he knew no one else had unearthed was the location of the Mills storehouse in southern New York. Papa hadn't even known! When they arrived just before midnight, Bae had a group of men unload the gasoline – as the rest entered the building. Shots were fired; inside some Mills men had been playing poker on a card table. The element of surprise just what was needed; Mills men were only just reaching for their guns when bullets found all straight to the head.

Bae moved to crates on the far wall, opening them to find bottles of alcohol – some probably theirs. He gestured for the crates to be loaded into each car; packed in as much as possible.

Afterwards, survey the building from outside, Jefferson approached.

"We've loaded up everything we can – there's still crates and barrels left inside."

"You sure we've got everything we can carry back?"

"Yes – everything!"

"Then have the men start emptying the gasoline inside – we'll burn the rest."

"Boss! Hey, Boss!"

Two runners came out of the building, restraining a man. Someone must have managed to hide during the shoot out; a coward who thought he could wait it out in the rafters.

"We found this guy – "

Jefferson gestured that all the gasoline had been emptied; all men clear -

"Hold him for me – I'll be right back."

Bae approached the front door, flicking his lighter open; igniting a little flame. In one motion, he lodged the littler inside – catching the Mills storehouse on fire. It didn't take long for the combination of alcohol and gasoline to have the flames reaching high into the sky; alighting the dark landscape into reflections of orange and red from the blaze.

When Bae finally turned back around to the prisoner, he asked,

"Do you suppose they can see that all the way in New York?"

The man was shaking. Bae approached, took the man by the scruff of his neck, holding his gun over head,

"Run! – and tell Regina I got her valentine."


	12. Regina Mills

Regina watched from her bed, seated up against plush pillows, as her latest lover dressed himself. He was a young political hopeful; had his eye on a senate seat someday. She could almost smell the desperation on him when he entered her party; the drive for attention and validation. That all too telling thirst for power! She'd been walking the same road for as long as she could remember. Still, she'd accepted his flirtation gladly. Allowed him to make love to her. In added bonus was to peak – not many of the young, pretty ones usually had that in them. No, usually everyone was only out to take what they could. Leaving Regina to have to pleasure herself afterwards.

When the youth bent over to step into his pants, Regina was given a dazzlingly view of his firm ass once again. She moved to take a sip of champagne; feeling herself once again dripping wet beneath the covers. It really was a pity she couldn't bring herself to remember his name. If she couldn't recall what name to be screaming out during the best session she'd had in months, there was no way in hell any voters would remember who to cast a ballot for.

Turning around as he fumbled with his bow tie, the youth asked, "I can have my office send over a copy of the report this afternoon. Maybe you could pass it along to Senator Glass or maybe –"

Rising to her feet and allowing the sheet to fall to the ground, Regina sashayed over to the boy. His eyes trailed over her curves with each moment; mouth agape at her nude form yet again. Her mother may drop hint after hint about her increasing age – all sliding towards the term 'old maid'- but Regina knew her power was alive and well.

"I'll make sure all the right people find it on their desks, darling," she reassured as her fingers threaded the tie; forming with ease a perfectly dignified bow. "Just you make sure certain ' _files_ ' are disposed of in your boss's stack. Burning is the safest option sometimes – nothing left to paste back together."

"Golly – you certainly are a swanky dame!"

Regina had to school her smile, holding it even as everything in her being wanted to slap the fool across the room. Did he have no idea who he was dealing with? Who held the power in this city? She certainly wasn't some ' _swanky dame_ '. Both slang-terms equally revolting!

With a peck on the cheek she sent him off; out of her apartment building and into the dark, early morning. It had turned into one hell of a Valentine's Day, Regina had to admit; stepping into a lacy, black nightie and her dark housecoat – a kimono an old admirer claimed brought out the red in her lips. Downing what was left of her glass of champagne, Regina was just about to climb back into her bed to sleep the entire day away – when her mother came charging into the room.

"Mother – I'm pretty sure I took your key away several years ago."

"An oversight, dear. One that I ratified by having your butler make another copy."

"To what do I owe this intrusion?"

"I've been trying to call you for the past hour!"

"And I sent the help home and took the phone off the hook. Now that's explained - tell me what you want so I can go to bed."

"Gold and his bastard-son have finally striked! I suggest putting the phone back on: because in a couple of minutes your best men will be calling to tell you all about the South Port warehouse being burned to the ground."

"What? How the hell do you know –"

"Because my best men were already on it – I give yours a lapse time of an hour or so."

"They burned my biggest warehouse!"

"I told you it was a bad idea to put too much interest into one enterprise. I'm content that you kept the gambling and sex fronts still open or else –"

"This is the way of the future! Men may want to fuck and gamble all night but it's rooted in them drinking like total buffoons first. How many? How many men do your guys say were killed?"

"At least eight – possibly more. We won't know till the fire burns out and they can start retrieving corpses- whatever is left of them anyways."

Regina started pacing back and forth, "I don't understand. We've been in a standstill for months with the Gold's – why now?"

"Sweetheart, you can't be surprised that I decided to speed everything up. I had a couple low level guys hold up one of their shipments – it's ridiculous that they were supplying for southern New York when you're –"

"I was doing fine on my own! Why didn't you at least run that by me? Did you ever pause and consider that I was working on something?"

Cora smirked at her, flipping her head to the side, "Sending a newly-married man a valentine taunt wasn't doing anything-"

"And the combination of the valentine and heist seem to have sent the guy on a rampage!"

"As I'd planned. Sadly: he didn't strike the right warehouse. I'd placed more than forty men at the warehouse right on the Jersey border – moved out most of the stock just in case. Pity! I was sure he'd pick the easiest route and Gold would be out a son by the morning-"

"What a pity! I'm out at least eight men and twelve-grand worth of supply: but the real tragedy here is you didn't get a bullet-filled little Gold delivered to your doorstep, mother!"

"Don't be silly, Regina. I didn't want him delivered to my door - I wanted his lifeless corpse laid out for his father to wail over. The only thing that _man_ ever loved: gone in the blink of an eye."

Regina paused to turn towards her mother. "At some point – you're going to have to let this go, mother –"

"Oh, I have Regina! Now: it's only in the spirit of doing good business!"

It was moments like this that Regina realized just how scary her mother really was. But the time for lamenting didn't exist in this situation. At some point, this would have happened anyway. Gold wanted control over New York and Regina had it. And her mother wanted the entire Eastern Seaboard - if not the entire U.S.A. The sparks had been flying for over a year and now was the time to prepare for open war. To strike back before Gold and his son had a chance to celebrate properly. Racing over to her closet, Regina pulled out dress after dress; searching for just the right one. A black gown, beading and feathers scattered around the bottom.

"Help me dress, mother. I need to speak to Sydney before he opens this morning's paper."


	13. David

David Swan had been born David Shepherd; in some run-down apartment in Chicago. The child of second-generation Hungarian immigrants. His father died in a factory accident before he could even walk. His mother followed her husband by his ninth birthday. Survival and need forced David to drop out of school; turning up at the doors of his father's old factory one morning; barely able to reach the window of the employment office.

But fate had intervened. Mr. Spencer had been touring the factory that day – he had invested interest in the grounds, he explained. When asked, David told him what he remembered his mother saying about his father; what he understood about his mother's illness and death. When Mr. Spencer's secretary stepped forward, promising to take him to the orphanage before noon, Spencer held up a hand.

"Take him to the boarding school on the eastside; I'll pay for everything." Lowering himself to his knees; now eye level with David, Spencer produced a sweet from deep within his jacket pocket.

"You seem like a smart boy – I hope you make use of this opportunity."

Taking the sweet, David nodded; promising earnestly that he would.

And he had! He'd studied like a fiend. Achieved the scores to attend Princeton; full ride. Once there, he assumed he'd find work at some factory or shipyard; evening shift to get by – study throughout the day… and then the money started coming in. Thick envelops from Mr. Spencer – always the silent-financer of his studies.

It was not until his senior year that David learned the strings attached to this lifestyle – that he was being trained and educated to be Spencer's lapdog; the lawyer to keep everything on the up and up; a consigliere. He'd been naïve enough to believe it had been pity; pure and simple. And what could a couple hundred mean to a man that owned Chicago?

It had been tempting, though. The lifestyle. He'd spent most of his life by this point surrounded by the sons of the wealthy – most not nearly as clever as him! But still, they had the best educations, fastest cars, best booze, craziest parties, cushiony jobs waiting at their fathers' offices, and the loveliest girls dangling from their arms. He'd have to have been blind not to be tempted at nineteen. But even then, David knew that wasn't the life for him – that he couldn't overlook shady dealings and horrible deeds all for the sake of his own pleasures!

All communications with Spencer ceased. All money-filled letters sent back. He'd even included his own apology in one, declaring Spencer would be paid in full for every cent he'd already spent. David started working security at a shipyard to finish his final year – only to be jumped and 'roughed up' by some of Spencer's cronies one night. He moved apartments, changed his name to Swan – the insignia of the shipyard he'd was left unconscious and bleeding that night, and graduated early to get out from under Spencer's radar. He managed to get a prestigious job in Atlantic City: as a clerk for Mr. Blanchard's shipping business. Blanchard was the most righteous man he'd ever met; running completely on the up and up and naïve to any types of illegal dealings. Blanchard always chose to take a loss if it meant helping the needy members of the community – something David had first attempted to fix. But, as the months passed by, David started to understand that Blanchard was the type of man who could afford to take losses – who only ran a business to keep himself busy; not to survive.

His wife was just as generous; just as kind. Frail and sickly, Mrs. Blanchard was never capable of going out into society – to participate the way other high-ranking, wealthy women did. He doubted she could ever even attend a tea party. But she seemed overjoyed to host small dinners; to bring some resemblance of society into her home. He had been an 'honored guest' since his first days at the company. Their only child, a daughter, had left for college a year ago – and Mrs. Blanchard had been aching to mother something again. And David, having gone so long without true affection, had only been too thrilled by both the Blanchards' attentions.

Until their daughter decided to stop at home for a week before her summer holiday in Europe.

The moment Mary Margaret Blanchard entered the room, David felt the air leave his lungs. Everyone's attention immediately went to her – and who could blame them? She was clever, knowledgeable about seemingly everything and could chastise the actions and beliefs of every man present – yet they would keep on smiling; crawling after her for more.

She was devoutly religious. Heading countless charities. As kindhearted as both her parents.

And beautiful. Far too beautiful to actually be sitting across from him at dinner parties smiling.

He'd done the right thing; a long courtship. She got him to start attending church every Sunday. He even started buying real estate; not wanting there to be any assumptions at why he was marrying his former boss's daughter – that he was after the business and money. A long courtship led into an even longer engagement – as he built up his business interests and made himself independently wealthy; made himself worthy of her love.

Their whole life together, David had chosen the 'right' path. Left his wife and child alone as he went off to fight a war in Europe; missed Emma's childhood being patriot instead of father!

And now – he was forced to watch his little girl suffer! He'd understood her impatience to be wed. Emma had always been driven by emotions; wanting things right when it occurred to her to want them. And damn it! – did he encourage this! From day one! What had all his work been for, all his patience and sacrifices, if it was not to give his wife and child whatever made them happy?

And he'd always liked Bae. He liked Gold too – in small portions. Usually with the help of a glass or two … which were hard to slip in anymore. But they'd skipped the courtship stage – Bae was immediately introduced into Emma's life as a fiancé. Yet this man David always remembered more as a boy – always large eyes and lonely; but polite! Ba always thanked him for sweeties. David had acted a champion for both Bae and Emma when they announced their intentions; defended them against Mary Margaret and Gold's protests -

But he once again entered his house to find his daughter spread-out on the sofa in the lounge; fast asleep. The book she must have been reading all afternoon had fallen to the ground, her arm unconsciously draped over her growing stomach. His little grandchild was only a couple months from arriving. Moving to place a nearby afghan on his daughter, David shook his head in distaste. Emma claimed her husband was busy setting up his new business venture – always quick to defend Bae when her mother questioned his treatment of a new wife.

Although David had remained silent during these arguments: he had to agree with his wife now. He'd waited years to be settled and capable of supporting Mary Margaret: financially and emotionally. From his understanding, Bae was out all night running amuck! Sometimes not home before the milkman! – and sweet, little Emma all alone! And what would happen if she went into labor and he was out dancing and drinking – David had to shake his head to block the images arising. Surely, the sweet boy he met all those years ago wouldn't – couldn't treat his daughter so cruelly?

He knew Mary Margaret had been having Johanna keep Emma's bedroom upstairs in order –should she be staying the night. His wife had even started to drop hints about arranging the guest bedroom into a nursery – and that it was just better for everyone involved if Emma stayed full-time until the birth. Maybe even longer: as she got used to caring for a child. David didn't put it passed his wife to be looking into divorce filings as well - should Emma decide to leave her 'no-good husband' and raise the child with her parents' help. 

But David was still willing to give Bae the benefit of the doubt – at least for a little longer. A couple minutes till dinner, Mary Margaret in the kitchen laughing with Johanna and Emma still asleep, providence seemed to shine down on David Swan – his son in-law arriving to pick up his wife.

"Ah – Bae," David called from the entryway. "Just the man I wanted to see! You and Emma will be staying for dinner."

It wasn't a question. Johanna had already set a place for Emma – adding another would be no difficulty.

"Mr. Swan –"

"Join me in my study." David walked him down the hallway, waiting for Bae to move to take a seat across the desk before entering and closing the door behind him.

"I'm very … concerned, Bae. I've really tried to be supportive but I fear it cannot continue this way. My concern is for Emma –"

"What? Do you think she and the baby are unwell? I can go get Doc –"

"Sit down! I didn't mean to alarm you. I just – I question if you realize what… duties a man owes his wife."

Bae blushed, shifting his feet uncomfortably. "Sir..um – Emma is with child so –"

David felt his own ear redden and stuttered at the man across from him, "I didn't mean that! Nor do I think Emma's health is of concern – although my wife has mentioned the dangers of the child coming when Emma is alone at the apartment –"

"We already have a plan mapped out, Mr. Swan. A phone-tree – and if I can't get to her for some reason, we meet at the hospital and August will come to drive her – "

"Why ever would you not be able to drop everything and come to your wife's side? Bae – there's family and then there's business. You have been far too focused on one: how can you hope to maintain the other?"

"That is the paradox, isn't? I need my business to provide for my family – and that requires time taken away from them."

There was a bitterness to Bae's statement that shocked David – a truth: absolutely! But he never imagined he'd see the little boy once again during this conversation: and a defeated little boy at that!

"It is definitely a double-edged sword," admitted David. "- But this is what you and Emma chose, remember? Your father and Mary Margaret were all for a long courtship; where you could get away with focusing on one more than the other. But I stood by you both – and still think you're capable of finding a balance. And – may I suggest hiring more employees? Maybe take some of the weight off your own shoulders? You want to watch the kid grow up, right?"

Another bitter laugh erupted from his son in-law – David found himself worrying over the boy once again. Trying to break the tension, David joked,

"I'd offer you a nip of something; the ' _pre-dinner drinks of yore_ ' – but Mrs. Swan would smell it on both our breaths a mile away."

Bae's genuine laugh was back, erupting across the room.

The door opened, revealing the blonde head of his daughter poking through.

"I thought I heard voices – dinner's ready! You both better come right away, mama is very insistent."

When Bae crossed the room and embraced his daughter; David heard him mutter, "how are you two feeling tonight?" before his hand reached out to rub across her stomach. He heard his daughter giggle but could not make out her reply – but watched his son in-law reach down to kiss her forehead.

Maybe the kids would be all right, after all.


	14. The Frumpy Housewife

Emma decided that she didn't like pregnancy. Especially now – weeks from delivery; although parents and friends thought she had over a month left. She waddled about. Her daily walks along the boardwalk becoming shorter and shorter; leaving her exhausted by noon most days. The nausea had subsided months ago – only to be replaced by irritability and mood swings. Mood swings that took their toll on both her and Bae. Her husband was getting objects lodged at his head at least several times a week now; a frying pan leaving the newest lump.

Sleep was an issue now – usually taking Emma forever to find a comfortable sleeping position. When she did, the baby would be pressing into her bladder or start kicking; kid was ever the lively one!

It wasn't until Alexa came over after their walk that Emma realized what she truly disliked about pregnancy. The sleep deprivation, the nausea, sore feet, irritability – everything could be ignored. She missed her old clothes; the dresses and headbands she'd commissioned for her new life a year ago: the saga of the happy flapper! Alexa was going to some swanky party in the evening, and Emma had offered up her unused clothes. They really were Ruby's masterpieces – the beadwork, feathers, rich colors that seemed to always catch the lights of a party or nightclub the right way… it really was a shame to just leave them in a closet!

She and Alexa laughed as they examined dress after dress; Emma pining as she fingered each one; and the baby kicking – to almost remind her he or she was present as she remembered the glorious months of freedom; the baby a token of said freedom.

_She missed the happy flapper, though! And fully acknowledged it was vanity and self-indulgence at play – her youthful nights spent drinking at clubs; dancing and flirting with handsome young men. Laughing far too loudly at each and every joke. Eyeing Bae from across the room and shivering when he smirked knowingly at her; following her out, into the night. They'd usually end up in her bright yellow car; the leather backseat a tactile feeling she'd take to her grave._

_Although never a strong dancer or a Lothario, Bae was the only man alive she'd invite into the backseat of her car. It was their space. Bae may have fumbled a bit at times, but he was incredibly pleasing at petting. He necked with vigor; teeth lightly biting. His clever tongue always flicking out to calm the nipped spots. His hand massaging her knees, slowly moving upward; along her inner thigh – until her dress was riding high on her hip and Bae was working to move aside slip and undergarments to caress her folds. His fingers would have her peaking long before she'd roll on top of him; pressing him into the fine leather interior._

_She'd become quite skilled with undoing a man's trousers; definitely not something her finishing school covered. With one hand, she could undo the rows of buttons, move aside the final cloth barrier and take his cock in hand; already hard and dripping in excitement by this point. Her other hand occupied all the while; gripping him by the hair and holding him into her kiss. Teeth knocking into each other. Tongues dueling; savoring the other's taste._

_She'd stroke him; casual, barely there touches that left him aching; bucking against her hand. She would find herself smirking into the searing kisses – but never letting up. No – each time she chose to finally sink down on his cock was a moment pinpointed to happen when Bae least expected it; causing his eyes to roll back and him to groan at his positively loudest! And she loved hearing it! Having him inside her once again! He was usually the one mindful of their surroundings; careful to control his volume in case someone heard and discovered them. But Emma was immune to it all – riding him in complete abandon; gripping his cock with her inner muscles and milking him for all it was worth! Screaming for anyone to hear when everything snapped; sending shivers along every inch of her body. Screaming again when Bae grabbed her ass and released inside of her._

_She loved the drinking, the gambling, the dancing, the excitement. The dresses and wild music. Flirting with fools and leaving them all behind to fuck her Bae; in her car, a storeroom, against a tree, an unoccupied guest bedroom, or even the beach – on the rare afternoon drive they enjoyed during their whirlwind of a courtship._

_She wasn't so naïve as to not understand what they were doing – or the underlining consequences for these pleasures. But – it seemed so unlikely! Married couples make babies; after careful planning and years of trying. Wild and free youths could fuck and drink the day away – and do so indefinitely!_

_She'd ignored the irregularity in her cycle at first, counted the days late and then proceeded to disregard any fears – went on partying just the same. Made love to Bae and never questioned if she should alert him of the possibility – when she finally had to face facts, she considered running away. She had a comfortable trust fund, a car to take her wherever she needed to go – maybe California! She'd never have to burden her parents with her failings… or witness the shift that Bae would undergo: her sweet lover who couldn't seem to resist touching her or chanting he loved her turning and running away – abandoning her with a bastard he'd never claim._

_She needed him to know, though – that they'd created a life. She prepared a speech to tell him, chosen the location and time – but ended up blurting it out half way through the evening, the music so loud in the club that she questioned if he'd even heard. The color draining from his face the only proof he had._

_He took her hand and dragged her into the backroom of the club; an impromptu office of his. The knowledge that the child in question might have been conceived on the very desk next to them did nothing to calm her nerves. Bae looked just as petrified as she felt, stuttering when he finally spoke,_

_"Are – are you sure?"_

_"Yes…pretty sure. I mean, I haven't been to see Doc about it – for obvious reason. But I'm …late. Very late."_

_Discussing her menstruation with Bae was painfully awkward – luckily he didn't press for her to elaborate._

_Still expecting the worst, Emma was shocked when his lips met her forehead; a gentle, comforting kiss. And it worked – instantly, Emma felt calmer! She was still visibly shaking, but Bae's hands reached around to hold her steadily; an embrace that finally grounded her. Standing there, wrapped in each other arms, Emma remembered who she was dealing with; realized his words hadn't been lies._

_"How far along –"_

_"More than a month."_

_Bae laid his head on top of hers; his breath flittering against her hairs. Nuzzling against her, she heard Bae mutter, "I'll do right by you, Emma – I promise. I'll do right by both of you."_

_It wouldn't be the most romantic words Bae would ever whisper to her but he lived up to the promise. The next morning, after dropping off a cake from her mother to Granny Lucas, Emma was stepping into the driver side of her car when Bae popped out of nowhere. He reached out an arm to help her safely into the Royce before grinning up at her cheekily,_

_"Don't suppose you could give me a lift somewhere?"_

_"Where to," Emma asked as Bae clamored to enter the opposite side of the car._

_"You pick – surprise me!"_

_She drove them out to the dunes – the location of an afternoon picnic and another possible site of the baby's conception. When parked, Bae wasted no time in pulling a ring from his breast pocket and sliding it onto her finger. A band of silver, braided with stylized square designs – all leading to one hexagonal diamond in the center. It was a very strange engagement ring; especially by local society's standards – but Emma instantly saw the very Bae qualities; that he had picked it out for her. The band was also a tad too large but Emma held it firmly in place with the help of her middle and little finger – she didn't want him to see it wiggle when he was so obviously proud._

_"Emma Swan, I love you. I – I'm sorry I've gone about this whole thing backwards but I promise: I'll move heaven and hell to keep you happy – both of you."_

_"I love you, too." Emma leaned over to kiss her now fiancé, relishing the fact that everything seemed to be working itself out. When they parted again, Bae was smiling at her._

_"We can marry in the next few weeks – sooner the better. Everything will be fine –"_

_"People will know, Bae. Regardless of us marrying or not. People are going to realize when the baby's born that –"_

_"And why should we care? People with that much hatred and ugliness in them to judge us on this – I don't care about those types. Or want them to be part of our lives. We'll be married and happy; anyone around us that doesn't find that enough can go –"_

_"Your father will count."_

_"Yes – but I'll deal with him. Come on, Emma - smile! Everything will be fine! Now – we have a wedding to plan and parents to manipulate! Want to have dinner with me and papa tonight?"_

_"Really? Do I 'want ' to have dinner with your vile, bitter, judgmental, unscrupulous father?"_

_"He's – I can assure you, Emma: he will be on his best behavior."_

_"Very well – but you're having luncheon with the Swans. We can tell mama and daddy then."_

Alexa was finally swayed to try on a dress – the one Ruby deemed 'the Peacock'; iridescent fabrics of blues and greens layered on top of each other, feathers sewn into the skirt – adding texture along the legs. When she stepped out from behind the screen, Emma had to clap.

"Come here," Emma insisted, snatching her friend's hand and leading her over to the mirror. Removing her stick of red lip rogue, Emma applied a generous amount onto Alexa's lips.

"There – perfect!"

"Emma... you know I don't usually –"

"Wear it – just a little bit at least. You simply have to let me live vicariously through you!"

Alexa looked concerned, about ready to cry. "Aren't you happy, Emma?"

"Very happy," Emma assured Alexa, patting her stomach affectionately. And she was – just pregnancy hormones and cabin fever shredding the last pieces of her sanity.

Blotting the corners of Alexa's lips with her fingers, Emma shrugged. "I'm so fat, I can barely walk any more – and I doubt I'll lose all this extra weight anytime soon. Even then, who knows if my figure will ever be – but I am happy, Alexa. Truly happy! I love my husband and child – and if I'm never a trim, little flapper again, Bae will just have to adapt to a frumpy, little housewife walking around in her housecoat all day!"

"He's a good one – he'll adapt."

"Yeah, Bae's definitely a good one," Emma agreed with a smirk.


	15. Saint Mary Margaret

_Blest be the tie that binds_   
_Our hearts in Christian love;_   
_The fellowship of kindred minds Is like to that above._

_Before our Father's throne,_   
_We pour our ardent pray'rs;_   
_Our fears, our hopes, our aims, are one,_   
_Our comforts and our cares._

Mary Margaret's smooth soprano rang out from the pews: louder than all the surrounding fellowship. A voice heavy distinct to all the weekly devout. Her husband next to her, holding the hymnal for his wife. Her sweet David- smiling back at her when their eyes met.

_We share our mutual woes,_   
_Our mutual burdens bear;_   
_And often for each other flows,_   
_The sympathizing tear._

It was one of her favorite hymns, had been since childhood. Had she not dropped the hint during this week's tea with the minister's mother, Mary Margaret might have overlooked the honor.

_When we asunder part,_   
_It gives us inward pain;_   
_But we shall still be joined in heart,_   
_And hope to meet again._

The congregation returned to their seated positions. Mary Margaret took a moment to survey her daughter; present this Sunday. For a moment, sitting by her father's side, Emma looked very much her little girl again. A fashionable hat – so much different than the trim floral bonnets Mary Margaret pinned to Emma's head every Sunday until she turned ten and refused to wear them. But this one was so much more – so much more Emma!

Her hair still curled about her face and behind her ears, no matter how short she chose to keep it. The large belly was the first give away that no time travel had occurred. Emma was only a few weeks short of delivery – if Mary Margaret figured it correctly; which she surely did!

The other piece of evidence of the changing times was the dark haired man practically snoring on her daughter's right. It was a wonder Emma got Bae standing for the hymn at all; his mouth had been moving – but no sound coming out.

Mary Margaret tried to compose herself; to remind herself to be a tolerant, patient follower of Christ. But something about the Gold men always challenged her otherwise saintly disposition!

But David had assured her he'd talked with Bae - had righted the boy's ways. And she wanted to believe it was true – but then part of her did enjoy rushing to the scene; saving her little girl from a villain! She had taken great pains in setting up a nursery and keeping Emma's old room in check; should her daughter and grandchild need to be rescued.

She also consulted the minister about the state of divorce in God's eyes – to be reassured God would be forgiving of little hiccups in such a young, sweet girl's life. Mary Margaret had already heard from the judge's wife that Gold had annulment and divorce papers drawn up as a wedding present for both.

The only matter that concerned her now was custody of the baby – and surely her family's good name vs. an absent father could right that as well.

Bae's head kept sagging to his shoulder, Emma nudging him; the two sharing silent laughter as the sermon started.

It was a rousing sermon, in Mary Margaret's eyes – calling all followers of Christ to wave the banners of righteousness; to make their community and world better for all. The minister championed the charities that supplied food to the homeless and impoverished; the charities that weeded the community garden plots and outside the church. All the charities Mary Margaret was head of. Pastor Hopper ended calling each member present to follow their own conscience but know they are never alone in strife.

Also, with an announcement of Mary Margaret's: an emergence meeting of the Women's Council to convene after church.

Mary Margaret kept her eyes straight forward. Especially when she felt Emma's glare. She might have tricked her daughter into attending this Sunday's service for a reason. But - surely there are worst fates for women in this world than sitting through a council meeting! She'd make sure Emma got first choice of all refreshments – and a cool seat on this hot July morning!

Pastor Hopper lead the congregation in a final prayer; afterwards allowing everyone a moment of reflection and personal prayer.

Mary Margaret ran through her usual prayer list: thanking God for his blessings, asking forgiveness for her shortcomings, and pleading to be made a stronger, kinder woman; a little bit everyday. Her final words asked for her family to be kept safe, Emma to be happy, and the baby healthy…

A collective, " _Amen_ " sounded across the pews, bringing Mary Margaret out of her own prayer and quickly muttering her own, 'amen' as people started to stand and exit the church. Women in bright colored hats already moved for the back of the church where a small sitting room could be found behind Pastor Hopper's podium. Emma and Bae waited in the aisle, holding hands and speaking briefly to other church goers; David joining and laughing at something Bae said.

Straightening her dress, Mary Margaret moved towards her family - and Bae.

"What a lovely sermon," she announced to the group. "Does it not make you just want to rush to your feet and dirty your hands?"

Both men nodded their agreement. Emma laughed, declaring, "Are you not already leading everything committee Pastor Hopper mentioned?"

She noticed both men smiling, biting their lips to hold back laughs.

"I am, Emma – but there's always so much more we can do."

"Which I'm certain I'll hear all about in there," Emma nodded her head to the back of the church, women still filtering into the door of the sitting room.

"I had Johanna pack some sweet iced tea. And she baked a strawberry cake with vanilla icing just for you!"

Through her smile, Mary Margaret knew full well that she was bribing her daughter to stand by her side; to be her comrade in this serious undertaking. But this was the next step for women everywhere – for Emma, and hopefully for a beautiful granddaughter in a few weeks.

Yes, she'd already decided that Emma would have a daughter; all bright eyes and blonde hair. She couldn't imagine another Gold male in this world!

Turning to the dark haired, dark eyed Mr. Gold, arms wrapped around her little girl as he grinned over the entire exchange, Mary Margaret assured him the meeting would be a short one.

"…should you care to wait and have luncheon with us?"

She turned to Emma as well in this, seeking an answer to her invitation.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Swan." Her eyes darted back to the dark man. How did Emma get him so well dressed this morning? He was usually in a vest and suit these days – but most of the time his sleeves were rolled up; a button undone. Tie a 'skewed. He looked quite handsome and almost respectful this morning-

"My papa is expecting me at noon. I fear I'm already late by his estimation."

"I see Mr. Gold Sr. still does not attend any type of religious service on Sunday."

"No ma'am, he does not."

"And does he still refer to himself as ' _his own God_ '?"

"…only in jest, Mrs. Swan. You… understand how papa can be."

There it was, that awkward little boyish smile she received when her son in-law was nervous.

"Well, I won't detain you from paying homage to your papa this Sunday morning. Come along, Emma- "

Linking her arm with her daughter's, Mary Margaret walked down the aisle; noticing Emma turned around briefly to stick her tongue out at her husband before allowing herself to be guided into the sitting room.

Mary Margaret was pleased to find Johanna had already prepared a plate of cake and glass of tea for Emma – and sat her next to the window in the breeze to partake in her treat.

Taking the podium at the center of the room, the place that felt as comfortable as her kid-gloves, Mary Margaret smiled warmly at the gathered women.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I fear an issue is arising that simply cannot wait for the first Wednesday of the next month! I was touring the local hospital this Thursday – as you all are aware, medical safety and cleanliness of maternity wards are very high on my priorities presently –"

The present women gave a good natured laugh, some turning to smile fondly at the expecting mother by the window; who most had watched grow up. Emma for her part was shocked; fork filled with a generous portion of cake hovering in mid-air; inches from her mouth. Perhaps she should have mentioned to Emma that she was paying weekly visits to the hospital; surprise inspections to make sure they never once wavered in Mary Margaret's list of health standards. Honestly, it made perfect sense! And her father and David had donated so amply to the hospital's funding over the last two decades – they practically owned that place.

"My tour came to a sad and tragic halt, however, when a young woman raced into the hospital, passed out about a foot away from me; blood leaking down her legs."

A collective gasp echoed around the little room.

"It saddens me to tell you this young woman found herself in ' _the family way_ '. And – not capable of supporting the child.. she had – taken matter's into her own hands."

"Could her husband not support her," a woman called from the back row.

"Is he dead," another chimed in. "Is she a widow?"

Another shot to her feet, highly confused, "What do you mean by ' _taken matter's into her own hands_ '?"

Mary Margaret could not blame them; she herself had a difficult time grasping the information she'd worked so tirelessly to unearth.

"The young woman was not a widow – had never been married a day in her life. She was a worker at a…house of ill repute."

There were still some confused faces in the crowd but Mary Margaret could not bring herself to utter the word 'prostitute'; hopefully they'd catch on – or had a clever friend willing to explain further afterwards.

"Her job left her in a vulnerable position. She had no family to support her; and it was money in her pocket – but highly dangerous. She had been misused by so many men, she could not even give a name to the hospital staff of a possible father – "

There – suddenly the oil lights were burning behind many a woman's eyes; the shock and terror; luckily, the older women still seemed confused, sipping their tea and barely listening.

"There is no doubt, this young woman has sinned and strayed from the Lord. But – I have to ask, is she not also a victim? Of circumstances at the very least! Of lack of education and care from society! She had been exploited by men since the age of thirteen! Had she had other methods, she wouldn't have been compelled to rid the child from her self –"

Women were outraged. One screamed, "She murdered her own child?"

"Let us not throw the first stone – in her sin, this young woman lost her own life! And the child!"

This seemed to calm them a bit; that the girl had received her retribution for being a whore and killing her baby.

"This tragedy has fueled my resolve even more. We need to educate young woman about their bodies. Promote an understanding of their sexuality - and reproductive cycle. Ignorance caused both these lives lost – and the workers at the hospital seemed completely unfazed. Like it happens all the time."

She moved to pulled out a thick packet of pamphlets titled _Family Planning_.

"I ask us to form a committee to pass these out amongst local fallen women – but also ourselves. Our friends. Our daughters. These diagrams and instructions could save lives! And free women to do greater things in this world!"

For the first time after delivery a stirring speech, Mary Margaret found no applause at the end. No standing ovation. Just looks of utter disgust.

"Should we not be preaching the word of God to these women – have them atone for all sins? Preach abstaining from sin to our daughters – not giving them an outlet to stray!"

Loud, angry voices all seemed to jumble into a collective scream; only key phrases and words plucking in Mary Margaret's ear drums. She looked around, scared of what she had caused – but found Emma staring back at her, head high and proud; giving her mother a silent support as the Women's Council denounced her and any notions of ' _family planning_ '!

When the anger mob surged out of the room, Mary Margaret began tidying up; the choir would be meeting tomorrow morning and she wanted to leave the space spotless for them. Johanna had begun taking the leftover food and drinks to the car. Thinking she was alone, Mary Margaret almost released her tears – but then felt a comforting hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she to find her daughter's warm hazel eyes.

"Mama –"

"I didn't mean to offend everyone… to cause such a mess! I just – I believe this is the right thing! I talked to some of those women –"

"You're conversing with prostitutes now?"

"Yes – they're people just like us! Most had horrible lives. Some championed being able to support themselves finally! – It's a much bigger issue than simply telling them to ' _sin no more_ '! I want to help them, give them options – and that starts with controlling their bodies. I'm sure of it!"

"I agree," Emma moved to take a pamphlet from her mother's stack. "I'm sure this will be beneficial to all women. It's not like I'm wanting to have a child every year or so –"

"You don't?"

"No!" Touching her stomach, Emma continued, "this baby is a blessing: but I can't see Bae or I wanting another for a couple of years. And, though I don't want to embarrass you Mama, I don't see us having a chaste marriage anytime soon; we're still young!"

She tried to ignore any thoughts of Bae joining her daughter in bed; imagining they had separate bedrooms was so much easier. But it was not like Gold Jr. was home enough to actually share any bed..

"Exactly! It's all well and good to just tell everyone to not have – _relations_ – if they don't want the consequences; but near impossible to enforce! Domestic or professional!"

For a moment, mother and daughter simply regarded each other with smiles; enjoying a moment of comradery; of being equals.

Until a throat cleared behind them.

"Excuse me… I really don't mean to interrupt."

Mary Margaret turned around to find a young woman with dark chestnut hair; fixed in a smart bun atop her head. The local librarian, Belle French. She was a great beauty – well-known for declining numerous proposals from the age of seventeen onward; choosing to attend college instead. And then enter the work force in one of the rare places women could nowadays - 

Something Mary Margaret admired greatly.

She had returned home before completing her sophomore year; after her father suffered a debilitating heart attack and doctors explained he'd require almost constant care.

This selfless act that Mary Margaret admired all the more.

Mr. French recovered some. He could no longer work – but Mary Margaret would see him tending roses outside the French residence from time to time. He recovered enough that Belle could seek some semblance of an independent life: running the local library.

"I really didn't mean to eavesdrop," Belle explained shyly, "But – I want to help! ... not just with' _family planning_ ' but with the women's liberation. I've read your pamphlet on how family-planning can liberate women and- I think it is quite a noble cause!"

"Well mama," Emma leaned in to kiss her forehead, "It looks like you've found a new comrade!"

Belle French. A girl several years older than Emma. Mary Margaret had always thought her bookish and shy – amazed when Belle spoke at all in committees. But now – she had to acknowledge a fire in those light blue eyes; a determination that was the most hopeful thing to come from the day.

No – the most hopeful thing to come from the day was the respect radiating from her own daughter's eyes.


	16. Boss Lady

Seated alone at Sydney Glass's favorite restaurant, Regina took a long drag from her cigarette; lowering the cig only to give her mouth clearance for the early morning cocktail in front of her. Booze supplied by her business associates of course! As were the surrounding restaurants – if not all of New York!

After a few sips of her cocktail; drumming her painted fingernails against the polished, wooden table; Regina took out her makeup compact. Dusting powder across her nose; checking to ensure her perfect, rouged lips remained unblemished after drinking.

By the empty tables surrounding her, it appeared Sydney had rented out the whole restaurant for their meal again. She really hoped it wasn't to propose; it was too pathetic seeing that man on his knees every other month!

Inwardly groaning, she plastered on a smile when Sydney came bounding through the door; taking off his hat while approaching her table.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting –"

"Don't be! I was only starting my first drink of the day," she lied; smile intact. Her third drink in all honesty. She'd been drinking since eight this morning- barely stopping from the night before.

She rose to her feet; planting a kiss on both his cheeks in greeting. Sydney turning the color of overripe rhubarb in return.

"I've ordered ahead," Glass signaled for the waiter. Immediately, heaping plates of eggs, toast, and sausages were brought to the table. A proper New York Sunday brunch.

"What are we drinking," he asked, head inclining to the drink in front of her.

"Mint juleps," she announced. "Thought they'd be delightful in this summer heat!"

"An excellent notion," he signaled the waiter to bring him one of the same.

She proceeded to take delicate bites of her meal, as her mother had taught her decades ago. And Glass was more than willing to just sit across and watch as her fork lifted piece after piece off the plate; dark red lips encasing the fork smoothly. Dear God! What kind of man showed such reverence to how a lady ate? His mouth was watering – it was positively revolting. But her smile never faltered. Not now, not ever!

"I have a surprise for you," Glass stuttered. "– a present!"

"Oh Sydney! You really shouldn't have..."

She waited for him to slide a little velvet box across the table; like she needed more jewelry! Like she couldn't buy herself the crowned jewels at this rate! When he did not, she prepared herself for him taking the knee; grabbing her hand and declaring his unwavering devoting and love – for the five hundredth time.

But – he did not!

Just smiled nervously across at her; looking down at his hands. He was pleased, she could tell. But why? Senator Sydney Glass had never surprised her in their years of acquaintance. She could read him like a book since day one – but he had her almost legitimately… _intrigued_ now. Was he less of a fool than she'd always believed?

"I have it on good authority that the FBI is sending a task force to Atlantic City; with strict orders to eradicate anyone participating in bootlegging or the distribution of alcohol. Even small infraction – we're talking about some serious jail-time here."

"How clever of you, Senator," Regina gushed. Hesitantly, she slid her hand across the table; laying it barely on top of his own.

"Does this make you happy?"

"I – I'm very grateful."

"Yes…but – are you happy?"

Her fake smile grew, oozing a radiance that many would doubt could be manufactured. Regina knew full well it could! Had been since the afternoon she received the letter which stated her soldier would not be returning home from European trenches.

"I'm so happy, Sydney," she purred. "I only hope to someday pay you back for such loyal friendship."

She saw him deplete for a second. The word ' _friendship_ ' hitting him harshly across the face. But he recovered soon enough, chattering on about what clubs he knew she'd like; the approaching dances and parties – always hinting that he'd be more than willing to escort her to any number of events; if not all.

She continued the smiles; of being charming … but limited. Never giving a definitive 'yes' to any of his offers. Somehow that kept her going in this extortion; like if she didn't outright ask for anything or say 'yes' it was less heartless... a bit at least.

Outside, Glass held her car door for her – Regina entering, flashing one last fake smile as the car drove down the block; finally safe to relax her face and be natural for a moment -

"Hello, boss-lady!"

Dear God- NO! Turning to the side, she found Killian Jones sprawled out upon her fine leather upholstery; smirking back at her.

"How the hell did you get into my car? Driver! Driver, pull over –"

"Give it a rest, boss-lady – I'm not here to cause problems. Just got back from a run to Ireland - and find that you've been a bit negligent with my last shipment!"

"I cannot help that some idiot, young- thing decided to play 'gangster' one night – and I'm the one cutting loses here! You've been paid accordingly!"

"Oh, I know I have, love – but I don't like my efforts being in vain. All I wanted to do was extend the olive branch to you poor Americans; keep everyone libated, like the proper Irishman I am –"

"And make a fucking killing in the process!"

"The money has been nice," he grinned wickedly at her. "And I've enjoyed the beautiful company as well –"

"Shove it! Tell me what you want and get out of my car!"

"Nice car this," his hand rubbed the leather interior sensually. "What's one of these baby's cost?"

"More than you could ever afford – don't you Irish have like thirty aunts and uncles, sixty siblings, eighty cousins, and hundreds of kids: all that you have to support being the only one making any real dough?"

"My! That's a bit racist! Though there is a reason the Irish are known for such large families –"

"And that is?"

"I'd love to show you sometime," Jones flashed a wink at her cheekily.

Groaning, Regina banged her fist against the window separating the back lounge seats and the front of the car.

"Driver! Pull over! I shouldn't have to repeat myself –"

"Calm down, calm down – I didn't mean no offense!"

"Oh – I'm not offended! I can't bring myself to care that much, actually. But I am a very busy woman, Captain. I don't have the time to dally and listen to your life's story. Tell me what you want now or so help me – "

"I have an impressive shipment this month. Whiskey from Ireland. Spanish brandy – a large supply and perfect quality - "

"So, you want more money? Take it up with the foremen; such matter's are beneath my –"

"I want an agreement. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. I will supply exclusively to you; you buy only from me."

"And why would I agree to that? And not keep shopping around based on customers' demands and other's supply? I can't depend that you won't get stranded somewhere, drowned out at sea – and then I'll have nothing to sell for a month; and have alienated other suppliers by this agreement!"

"No one in my family has ever drowned at sea – nor will they ever. But thanks for the concern on that front. I keep to a strict schedule. I'll be here the same time you need me every month. I'll get whatever your customers fancy – and quality shit at that -"

"I can't agree to this –"

"And I won't go sailing down the coast to offer the same agreement to the Gold's – which I may be forced to if you turn me down, Regina."

"Don't. Ever. Call. Me. By. My. Christian. Name. - Is that understood?"

"Yes… I –"

"I will agree to a trial period. Get the lists from the foremen and bring me every last drop of booze you can. The moment you let me down – have no doubt I will destroy you! Is that clear, Captain?"

"Y- yes, ma'am!"

As the car pulled against the curb, Regina grabbed Jones by the collar; throwing him out of the car.

"Good!"


	17. The Lonely 'Widower'

Gold was sitting at the head of his dining table; a long, finely polished plank packed with matching chairs. Ten could fit comfortably at his table. More if they didn't mind their elbows brushing – but usually just himself these days. And he was never one to play host.

The newest maid – for he'd always cycled through maids quickly – had placed platters of roast, salads, and potatoes along the table before he enter: all foods he recalled Bae enjoying as a child.

It wasn't everyday that Gold got his son for a meal. Not since his marriage. No – before that even. Bae and himself had been so busy; from the age of fifteen onward. Then he was away at college. After that, both Gold males were working so much…

Yet another defect in his parenting. He could supply his son a fine table to eat upon but had not found the time for daily family meals.

It wasn't that he was lonely! Not at all! – he chanted that back and forth in his head as he gazed at Bae's still vacant seat; remembering his little boy's mouth stuffed with potatoes and grinning back at him.

When Bae came rounding the corner, the visions of his little boy quickly dissolved as he examined the grown man in front of him. Freshly shaven – Emma must have insisted on church. A tan suit. A rust colored tie. Hair slicked back to finish off the look – Gold found himself pinning for the messy curls and dirtied shirts all over again. Those – he was familiar with - 

"You're late," Gold barked at his son.

"Afternoon, papa. Having a nice morning?"

His son was unfazed by his papa's gruff greeting; smile still in place as he pulled out his old chair and moved to drop generous helpings of everything on his plate.

"… now the foods probably cold –"

"If it's too bad," Bae assured him; taking a large bite of potatoes and gesturing to the kitchen with his fork. "I'm sure Aggie would be willing to take it back to the kitchen for a warm-up."

"-Fired her Thursday morning."

Bae paused, glancing around the ceiling and pillars of his childhood home. Gold wondered what the boy was about until -

"If these wall could only talk, papa – I'm sure they'd have some stories to tell about you and the help! I've lost count of how many girls you've brought to tears growing up here."

Of course Bae would state it that way; that it was his fault they were all incompetent! Gold knew he had high standards – but he also paid higher than any household in Atlantic City. Surely paying well gave the perk of perfect service - or at least a maid who didn't whistle as they worked!

"If they cannot fulfill their jobs, based on the simple directions I've given, - directions each and everyone one of them agreed to prior to starting – it should be no shock when I dismiss them," Gold rationalized aloud. He caught Bae smirking into his napkin but his son said nothing more on the subject.

"Did you have a nice morning with the religious zealots, Bae?"

"Church was fine. Everyone agreed the service very well done. I barely fell asleep during – and Emma was proud that I didn't burst into flames upon entering the building!"

Shaking his head as he laughed, Gold began the shop-talk, "We need to talk about discretion within the ranks. War is starting and I want to know the layout of our men before the Mills' strike again. Who wants what? How much do they want for it – any have a special grudge against either of us –"

"My men are discrete and loyal, papa –"

"And you're certain? Not one of them will brag to some woman about his job; charm a flapper with his connections."

His son's prolonged pause did not inspire confidence.

"Look Bae – at this stage of the game, what trips players up are the private lives getting in the way. Jealous mistresses. ' _Concerned_ ' neighbors who look out their windows far too much – angry workers trying to make some extra dough. And, of course, _silly_ wives digging around in desk drawers –"

"Emma doesn't have to 'dig around'. She's seen and burned every file I've ever kept. I've told her, at great length, what you and I are doing and –"

"And – she's _okay_ with it?"

"Yes: she is."

"And – you're certain she understands. Pretty thing - your wife. But she seems a bit dense - "

"Yes! Emma probably understands better than I do in certain matters. She's been advising me on – "

Gold broke down in hysterical laughter.

"You're telling me that pretty, little-daughter of Mary Margaret Swan is advising you on bootlegging?"

"Not just bootlegging…"

"Bae, I'd say you've married a _Mafioso_ in the making!"

"Scared?"

"No – I think I'm actually gaining a newfound respect for our little Emma. Here's the lay of the lands, something you can pass on to your wife tonight over dinner: loyalty is key now. All those men, despite how well you've come to know them – they're all in it for the paycheck. You may know their life story, met their wives and kids, but – end of the day – if they think someone could pay them better, they'd turn on you in a millisecond. Now: do you have someone you trust? Someone who'd lay out their life for you?"

Bae was quick to nod.

"No, son – you don't! Have you not been listening to a word I've said!"

"You said the key was loyalty. There are a few men I –"

"Loyalty can simply be a symptom of prolonged exposure; repeated moments of comradery going astray. Real loyalty lies in blood; in family. You can trust Emma and myself – no one else. Family is everything..."

"So – you would have done the same thing? Burned the warehouse and shot those men –"

Bae looked at him with large eyes; a child awaiting confirmation that they were forgiven. No punishment awaiting them. That they were still loved even if they made a mess.

"They threatened our family, Bae. You acted with more restraint than I – New York could have burned completely so long as I could wrap my hands around the neck of that Mills' bitch!"

"The city of New York is perhaps fortunate I did not pause to consult you."

"Is Emma aware of the threat? Of the war you've started?"

"No – the one thing I've not let her in on."

"Good! There's no use worrying her so close to the birth!"

His son looked to his feet. A pronounced frown on his face.

"I…I really haven't kept anything from Emma; not since I explained the business outright…"

First he needed his papa's support and confirmation that he was a good son. Now – worried that he's failing as a husband? Gold had never realized how shaky his son's self estimations were; a self- esteem ready to be kicked aside. For that – Gold blamed Millie for just walking out on them!

"It's not as if you're lying to her, Bae."

"Just withholding? Is that how you'd turn the situation in your favor?"

Gold felt like he was slapped across the face. Leave it to Bae to point out his tendency to spar with words; arranging them to keep himself safe and blameless.

"Other husbands out there are running around with other women. Lying and cheating; drunk and wasting money. Returning home with diseases they pass to their wives – heck, Bae: some men even abuse their wives. Take all of these into account before you damn yourself for this one thing!"

"Did – did you ever… to mother?"

The amount of times Bae had brought up Millie- Gold could count on one hand. Luckily, children don't seem to retain early memories. At four, Bae seemed to keep bits of images. He claimed he remembered what Millie looked like; her smile. Gold had never pressed the boy to see if these were truths or just wishful thinking. She left. She broke his heart. She announced she didn't want to be a wife or mother – and he'd just nodded like a fool; watching her walk out of their apartment; bag in hand.

"No. Never."

After the meal, when Bae headed back home to his pregnant wife – Gold moved into his study. Sorted through books and papers; trying to keep his mind from wandering to his little boy – or the life they should have had…when a knock sounded on the front door. Gold ignored it; certain they'd go away soon enough. The new maid gone to enjoying her Sunday afternoon off – another treat he offered the help!

But it was insistent. Growing rapid by each second. Storming to the door, Gold threw the door open to reveal – a woman. A lovely, young woman. Staring him straight in the eye; clutching a clipboard to her chest.

"Good afternoon, I hope I'm not interrupting your mid-day meal –"

"Not at –" Gold found himself unable to finish that thought; shocked that he didn't just slam the door in her face. Why hadn't he?

Glowing blue eyes seemed the obvious answer, his stomach sinking at the realization. His mind livid at the mere thought!

When he failed to contribute to any further dialogue the beauty laughed. Good naturedly – but clearly uncomfortable.

"My name is Belle French and I'm here on behalf of the Atlantic City Women's Voting League –"

Damn it to hell! Mary Margaret Swan had started yet another league!

"- We are collecting signatures to host a rally at the town square –"

"Did you women not already get the vote -"

That might have come out harsher than he'd intended.

"Yes, we did. However the newest issue that has arisen are states refusing to ratify the bill. Some flat-out denying it and others delaying it's progress just so women cannot vote in the upcoming election –"

"Truly?"

"Yes, sir! We've already missed the last presidential election. Can you believe that?"

"…no?"

"I could tell you were a sympathizer! The moment you opened the door! Here – will you sign?"

She passed over the clipboard; revealing a long list of names already. She'd been busy so far today! And, judging by her enthusiasm, no where near done!

Adding his own to the list; ignoring the voice in his head taunting that he was only enabling the craziness of Mary Margaret Swan, Gold found himself smiling back at the girl; a genuine smile. The one usually meant only for Bae.

"I hope this helps your cause." And he meant it. Sincerely wanted this woman to always win the good fight!

"Thank you…," she looked down at the list of names. "…Mr. Gold! I'm sure it will. Can I – possibly trouble you further? Could I speak to your wife for a moment?"

Her hand moved slowly to the satchel on her side; waiting to fully bring forth whatever she was clutching in her hand.

"I'm a widower," the lie freely slipping from his mouth. After years of making the same claim, it felt more real than any other lie he'd ever tell. 

"Oh! I'm sorry, sir."

"It's no matter, Mrs. French."

"Miss," she corrected, moving to readjust her satchel over her arm. "And thank you again, Mr. Gold. If you're interested, we're holding our next meeting Tuesday night – and, despite the name, we are looking for some male members!" She laughed here, her voice radiating springtime and youth. Making him feel all the more like an old fool.

But as she walked down his garden path, turning back from the gate with a final wave for him, Gold had to admit (if only to himself) he was very interested.


	18. Not Henry Cartwright

"Not Henry," Bae insisted.

"But it's such a nice name!"

"Anything but Henry!"

"Just because I might have had a beau named Henry? …Henry Cartwright was a dear friend," Emma argued with a pout. "We went to a few formals and dances - he did the funniest thing one night –"

"I don't want to hear what Henry Cartwright did!"

"Lord, Bae - there's really no reason to be jealous! It's not like we ever petted or anything – and he certainly didn't get into the backseat of any car with me."

Bae felt Emma shift closer into his embrace; nuzzling into his neck. Her soft lips scattering kisses along his skin. She was teasing him; she simply had to be – but Bae would not relent on this! Anything else, and she could turn him into a lovelorn fool waiting to do her bidding. But this was their child! His son or daughter. Henry Cartwright be damned!

Still, when he heard Emma sigh; some of his own tension was released with her breath.

"- I just… do you have another boy's name? Anything?"

"I guess our fathers should both be considered candidates. David? Davie for short? Or your papa's –"

"Nope. I don't want our kid living under anyone else's shadow. If the baby's a girl: no Mary, Margaret, or Millie either!"

"Now you're just being difficult," Emma sighed in exasperation; throwing her arms around his neck. "I quite like the idea of a little Millie May-"

"How about Alice? Evelyn? Gwendolyn – Wendy for short?"

"What about Tallie," countered Emma as she played with his hair. 

"For a girl?"

"Yes," Emma eyeing him as if it was a completely obvious suggestion. 

"And what's it short for? _Tallahassee_ ," Bae joked.

"It would be short for Tallulah –"

She was interrupted by Bae's laughter.

"…you've got to be kidding me, Emma. Tallulah!"

"I think it's pretty. And unique! She'd make the name her own –"

"I'll... agree to put 'Tallu-' and 'Tallie' on the list. Not sold yet, mind."

"And I'll agree to you writing down Alice and Wendy."

" – And Anna. Simple but strong," Bae encouraged. 

"And Anna."

Emma sighed once again; holding Bae's neck tightly.

"We still have nothing for a boy!"

Bae was quick to suggest, "Jack, Peter, Oliver, Sam, or Michael?"

Emma rose an eyebrow as she consider each name, "I'll allow Jack and Michael on the list – and suggest George and Henry."

"Still not letting Henry go?"

"It's a fine name – we can call him Harry. Just imagine our dark-haired little boy. With bright, brilliant eyes and a stunning smile –"

"I'm assuming I've contributed only the dark hair in this scenario-"

" – little Harry Gold. Can't you see it?"

"-Okay, imagine that boy still – but he'll be little Jack Gold!"

"Jack Gold sounds like a degenerate gambler!"

"If he's lucky-"

"Bae!"

"I'll write 'Harry' down. Does that make you happy?"

"Very!"

Her mouth rose to capture his; her hands caressing his jawline. He felt her smile against his lips. His wife seemed to think she'd won! Part of him wanted to wake her own jealousy; to suggest his former college dates as suitable names for this kid. But he simply could not imagine his perfect little girl- with big eyes and blonde hair like her mother- racing about as he called to her 'Bernadette' or 'Irene'. Nope! And he wouldn't be calling out 'Henry' either!

He became lost in the kiss; the tenderness and slow exploration of the other's mouth far too tempting. A heated sensuality always present; even with her in a housecoat and slippers, round belly peaking out.

He liked this- his taste of domestic bliss. Many a morning should be spent this way; sneaking kisses on their couch. Breakfasts with a bunch of kids packed around their table, Emma beaming across from him. Their sons and daughters groaning when mommy and daddy cannot resist finding some way to touch each other -

He was in love.

Still lost - miles away from anything resembling sanity. And Henry Cartwright didn't get these kisses on the couch. Didn't get to wake up to Emma snoring beside him.

Gently, he placed his palm on top of Emma's belly; waiting to feel the baby kicking against her – like he or she always did when mommy's heart rate picked up!

Emma was clearly hot and bothered; moaning needily into his kisses, pressing herself tightly against him.

There! He felt the tapping under his hand! Henry Cartwright didn't have this either!

Down the hallway, Bae heard the phone ringing. When he first pulled away, Emma was quick to grab his head and push herself back against his mouth; teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

"Stay," she demanded between kisses. "It's far too early to be ringing anyone. Serves them right to learn some manners!"

He happily complied, rationalizing that a serious issue would be cause for repeated attempts. When the ringing stopped, Bae smiled as he began passionately necking his wife; delighting in each and every squeal and gasp released from her darling mouth… but then it started again. A telling ring of certain doom.

As Emma sighed in defeat, Bae rose from the couch and headed for the phone.


	19. A Young Mother

A dull pain had started an hour after Bae left to check the shipping yard with August. She had returned from a shortened morning walk around the boardwalk - and had just started to clear the breakfast dishes- when she found herself clutching the table's side to keep her balance. As soon as it had happened, the pain seemed gone. She shrugged the discomfort off as the baby moving about; kicking like they always did. The baby was a lively one; to Bae's pride.

She finished her task and took to the couch; a morning of calm reading waiting for her; convinced to think nothing of it – until she doubled over; clutching her stomach as she felt a sharp pain in her abdomen.

At first, she panicked. But she quickly calmed herself, choosing to keep a cool head instead.

Baby Gold was arriving right on time. As soon as this latest pain passed, Emma rose and waddled down the hallway, picking up the phone and connecting to Bae office phone located at the largest storehouse.

"Hello," August's voice sounded from the other end.

"August – can Bae come to the phone _RIGHT NOW_?"

"Hang on a second, Ems – nope! He's already driven away. What do you need?"

"The baby's coming! We need to instill 'Operation…' - I forget what Bae's calling it now! I need a ride to the hospital! And would very much like my husband, your boss, to be made aware that his first child is on the way!"

"Calm down, Ems – don't you have a guess at least?"

"No – I don't have a guess, August! You have five minutes to get your car over here and send a runner after Bae before I ….ow!"

The pains were starting again.

" – I think Bae was calling it 'Operation: Gold Rush' last; but he was flip-flopping towards the end –"

"I really don't care, August!"

"Sheesh, Emma – I was only teasing-"

"Send a runner after Bae. Get into the closest car you can find and come get me: now!"

She slammed down the receiver; huffing in frustration – and found a wetness leaking down her legs; ruining her stockings and leaving a puddle on the floor.

Escaping into her bedroom, Emma attempted to clean herself up a bit – grabbing her packed bag. Out the window, she was happy to find a beat-up truck racing towards the little apartment; engine blaring and turning heads on the otherwise calm street. She watched August leap out of the truck, engine still going, and heading through the front door. A minute later, the sound of running footsteps hammered on the long staircase, down the hallway – there, the turn of the lock (Bae had entrusted August with their keys) and she heard August call for her in the main room.

She stepped out of the bedroom, nodding to the bag at her side as she headed for the door.

"Get the bag," she called back, already moving to take the stairs.

"I sent a runner," August called out, bounding after her down the stairs; swinging her bag in his hands. "He should be meeting us there –"

The pain returned. A faster turn around than earlier.

She had to pause on the stairwell, gripping the banister to keep from falling down the remaining steps. August placed his free hand on her back to help balance his friend.

It took her a moment to collect herself again; for the pain to pass into just a numb throbbing. She turned to glance over her shoulder at August,

"Thanks – I…"

"It's okay, Ems. Everything's going to be okay."

She managed a weak smile for the man, hoping he was right.

They managed to get outside of the apartment building without another series of pain; August holding the truck's passenger door open for her when -

"Emma!"

Her mother was racing down the sidewalk; Suffragette sash blowing in the window. Belle French attempting to keep up with her mother's manic pace.

"Hello, mama," Emma greeted weakly as she tried to keep a casual tone. "Have you two been canvassing again?"

"We were just finishing up"- her mother's eyes darted to the bag in August hands. She could just see the gears twisting in her mother's head. And, of course, the labor pains returned. Emma gritted her teeth; trying to fight the sharp pain ripping her apart. But it was too strong by now; knocking the wind out of her.

"Emma, are you – is the baby coming already?"

Emma was about to shake her head, deny everything – there was no possible way she could deal with her mother right now. No! She wanted to get to the hospital, have Bae waiting there, and deliver this still unnamed child before – before her mother's insistent mothering came into the mix!

But August spoke before her.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Swan – I'm taking her to the hospital and Bae will be –"

"And you didn't think to call me? Emma! Of course you should have called me! I could have just as easily given you a ride –"

"Well, you were apparently out canvassing –"

"Did you even try me first? Johanna could have come looking for me –"

"Mama, it really isn't –"

"Why wouldn't you choose me? I've had a child before Emma – surely you'd want someone with experience by your side."

Emma allowed her mother to go off in a tangent; waiting patiently against the open door of the car. Just the way her daddy taught her growing up. He described mama as spirited and explained that she needed to always get in the last word.

August, true friend that he was, attempted to take some of the heat off Emma; explained that she had tried to call Bae first but August picked up the phone instead.

"Your husband's unreachable -why am I not surprised?"

Emma gritted her teeth again. This time in no way related back to the shooting pain she was enduring. Her mother certainly had a vendetta against Bae these past months. And she was, apparently, still unaware of their pre-wedding activities. God save Bae should that secret ever surface! 

"Bae is waiting at the hospital –"

"A lot of good him being there will do –"

Emma groaned. If he wasn't there, her mother would continue to paint him as negligent. If he was: he was only there as a sort of wall decoration.

"Would you like to ride with us, mama?"

There! That was what her mother had been waiting for in all her prattle; an invitation. Mary Margaret Swan eagerly nodded her head, turning to Belle to ask her to drive the Swan's family car home for her; Belle instantly agreeing.

"Then get in," Emma commanded, swinging herself into the passenger seat of the large, rusty truck. Crossing her arms defiantly across her middle; waiting for the other two to get inside.

August drove like a madman to the hospital; honking at anything and everything in his path. Her mama sliding from one end of the car to the other; searching for something to grip in the section of the car most likely used for storage: not fine lady's seating needs. Emma wanted Bae by her side, to be able to whisper about her mama riding where so many boxes of booze had been situated minutes earlier. When they reached the hospital, she felt the blood draining from her face: her yellow car was no where in sight. Bae wasn't waiting inside.

They took her from the car in a wheelchair, whirling her into the hospital. Down the longest trails of hallways she'd ever seen – much more than she remembered when being given a tour months ago!

They abandoned August outside of the maternity ward. He promised Emma he'd call around for Bae; assured her mother that Mr. Swan would be included in his list.

"Should I call old Mr. Gold too?"

"No," Emma panted. "Don't – don't put yourself in that line of fire. Wait for Bae – Bae is much better off making that call!"

Months ago, she had convinced herself the maternity ward charming. Light and airy. A happy place. Now, it smelled too sterile. Cleaners almost choking her as a nurse wheeled her through the maze; her mama reminding the poor, young nurse that they would be having a private room; dropping the prestigious ' _Swan'_ and ' _Blanchard'_ names every so often. Emma herself had to explain to the nurse that she herself was ' _Gold_ '. Mrs. Emma _Gold_. The soon to arrive infant 'Baby _Gold_ '.

She was stripped and dressed in a white hospital gown. Once placed on the horrible, white sheet, creaky bed, the nurse forced her legs apart; checking her progress.

"You are a lot farther along than I expected, Mrs. Gold," she smiled up at Emma and her mother, "I'd say she's about ready for the first dose of ether –"

"Good," her mother answered. "Doc has assured me that it will take the pain away –"

"Oh – she'll feel nothing. Just a pleasant sleep. And, when you wake up, Mrs. Gold, you'll have a little baby waiting for you!"

Emma's fears were not diminished by the promise of ether. She wanted Bae. Even if society and hospital workers would never allow a father into the birthing room – she wanted to know he was out there; within screaming range if she was to lose all sanity and begin calling for him. Surely, her Bae could knock over every attendant that tried to hold him back; he would race by her side at the drop of a hat..

But the pain – she couldn't have fathomed anything more painful than the one's hitting her on the stairwell but now, her whole body was almost unresponsive to anything but the agony erupting from her hips, her belly – even her legs ached. She was grateful when Doc entered, covered her mouth with a cloth mask as he applied the first few drops of ether; her mother gripping her hand in comfort.

Her mother and Doc had discussed in length the changes in childbirth. Emma had never questioned not having her child in the hospital. It was far safer – especially considering her own birth and her mother's history. But anesthesia – that was something new. All the upper-class city girls were using it, apparently. The first few drops and you were at a speakeasy; flying high and fearless. The next dosage, and she'd be lost to the world.

Her mother even made a comment that, in Ireland, Temperance leaders suggested ether to wean drunkards off the bottle.

That's how safe the stuff was.

She still wondered though - if she'd awake hangover afterwards; eyes darting back and forth as her mother and Doc spoke above her.

Doc was just finishing a tale when the nurse opened her legs again, nodding at Doc and declaring it was time for Mary Margaret to leave the room. Emma gripped her mother's hand as hard as possible but the ether made her hand sag back onto the bed; eye drooping as she watched her mother exit.

Emma was fading in and out of consciousness. She felt nothing. Her eyes opened to find not people standing around her but white forms; sterile white masks blocking faces. She felt fear at first; scared of knowing what hide behind the masks – a few more drops were added to the mask around her own face - and she was gone again.

Back at the speakeasy. Dancing the Charleston with Alexa. Standing against the bar as Bae mixed her drinks; trying to find the one that was inarguably her's.

Party lights of green, red, and yellow flashed before her eyes; swirling like a tornado and suddenly -

She was home again, a child racing through darkened hallways; searching for her father's study. A thunderstorm shook the house. Emma was shaking as she threw open her father's door. Her daddy was sitting in his soft arm chair; reading as he smoked his evening pipe. Little Emma lunged into his arms, finding her head in the crook of his arm as the storm continued.

"Emma – you must be brave! Nothing's going to harm you while I'm here."

And nothing ever would.

But – where was he?

She was in the hospital ward now; the cheery lights all extinguished as she walked the hallways. The pure white walls, furniture, and fabrics a muddy gray. There were no windows! And no doctors, nurses, or other patients. She was alone. And she couldn't escape. A maze and she couldn't find a way out. She called for her mother. She called for August. Screamed herself hoarse for Bae – but the only sound she heard echoing down the hallways were a child's cries.

Her child.

She searched- tried to break down doors to get to her baby. But never reached him or her.

The baby was lost in the maze like she was; desperately trying to be united with its family.

Somewhere, beyond her dream world, someone must have added more drops to her mask. Soon, Emma's mind fell into darkness again; a world of nothing. Where she was no longer tormented by the child she couldn't save. For that, Emma was grateful.


	20. The Family Man

Bae knew something was off the moment he stepped out of Emma's yellow car; slamming the door closed like he usually did – the unfamiliar quiet causing him to suddenly be highly aware of how loud the action was; echoing against the speakeasy and bombing outward to the ocean.

Adjusting his hat to view the scene from under the fedora's brim, Bae noticed no workers rushing about. No music filtering out from the joint; even during the day, the guys would usually have some musician banging away on the piano inside. Not always the best Atlantic City had to offer – in desperate times August took care of it himself.

But he'd left August at the warehouse.

Maybe no other fella had been forced into piano lessons from the age of five to fifteen.

But no one raced out to greet him as well. No men unloading the truck parked at the backdoor. Nothing. It was like the whole operation had come to a stand still. With one final drag of his cig, Bae flicked it to the ground; extinguishing the embers into the dirt with the back of his heel.

Bae let out a breath; stilling himself to enter the speak the very image of a heartless slave-driver. Thinking back to his papa as he donned the persona of 'the boss' – opening the door to find Jefferson panting into front of him; holding out his hands to prevent Bae from fully entering.

"What the hell is going on Jeff –"

"We didn't mean for it to happen, boss! Before you – none of us wanted this to happen!"

Bae pushed himself into the room; finding six of his men sitting around the entryway. Somber. All equally avoiding eye contact.

"Did you lot ruin a shipment? Did we get jacked in the short route from the warehouse to – dear God! You idiots look like you've killed…"

Bae trailed off here, looking to Jefferson for final confirmation. When he found the man's eyes also focused on the floor – anything but his boss – Bae cleared his throat, dreading what was to follow.

"Where," he asked simply, trying to pull forth a casual edge. To convince himself and his men that this was simply business. Just business.

Jefferson stammered, "We... we dragged him to the backroom; guy had been sniffing around. Asking weird questions. Some of us passed him off as a newbie – or a leftover from the party last night but –"

Bae was already crossing the speak; racing towards the backroom. Opening the door, he almost stepped on the body sprawled out over the floor.

A bullet wound to the head. The man, whoever he was, was left almost disfigured. The dead man's skull visible through the blood and brain oozing out of the jagged hole.

When the body jerked upward, Bae panicked that the poor man was alive; suffering. In agony! But it was nothing but post mortem spasms; the dead body recalling what it used to do. Slowly shutting itself down. Even though he was never religious – if anything, his papa brought him up to be anti-religion, Bae found himself praying that the man's soul left instantly. Whoever he was, Bae hoped he had no feelings left by the time his brain started leaking to the floorboards.

"What the fuck happened?" Bae turned around, glaring as the man funneled around him; waiting for directions. "I want every last detail. Who wants to start?"

Jefferson stepped forward again.

"Like I said – guy was sniffing about. Asking questions. Making notes in this little book when he thought us too busy to notice. Guys got mighty uncomfortable -mighty fast! Whale started shoving him; threatening the guy –"

"It wasn't his business what we were doing," Whale defended himself. "Guy wouldn't answer us. I told him to get –"

"Things escalated quickly after that, boss," Jefferson interrupted. "Once Whale landed the first punch, a bunch of guys jumped in. Beat the guy into a bloody pulp –"

"And suddenly he whipped out his piece," Whale explained. "Pointed it at me – was going to pull the trigger!"

"I pulled the gun upward," Jefferson admitted. "Guy pulled the trigger himself!"

Bae turned around to view the body again; squatting to fish through the man's breast pockets. He pulled out the wallet. Opened the leather to discover the man's name– but found a shiny, gold badge instead. The American eagle gleaming as it protected the crest of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

"Congrats – you lot killed a Federal agent," Bae announced dryly. He continued his search through the man's pockets, hoping to find something personal. A memento or photograph of a gal – but nothing. The small book the men had talked about; notes on the Gold operation. Evidence of the Gold family's criminal dealings.

Rising to his feet again, Bae sat on his desk; reaching into his pant pocket for his lighter. Playing with the smooth metal in his hands, Bae turned back to his men.

"We are going to put his body in the truck outside; buried under crates leftover from the shipment. Tonight: Jefferson and Whale will be in charge of a party driving out to the dunes; as far away from the city as you can get. Remove the body from the truck – Whale: take a boat out to sea with it. Deep out -"

"He'll be found, boss! A couple days maybe... but –"

"He will be found! The FBI isn't going to give up the search for a lost agent. They need a body. However, couple day in the waves – the sea will take care of any evidence. Sea around the dunes – current is likely to take him closer to New York again. Could be bloke never made it here – none of us ever saw him-"

"But boss –"

"Nothing will be definitive! That's what's important at this point! Apparently they've already been tipped off about this operation," here Bae waved the small book around. "Now we know it's time to tighten up – change locations around. I want a new speak location by tomorrow morning! Entrance allowed only to people we know – doors will be guarded and customers will have to know a password to enter!"

His men nodded. Bae signaled for those closest to remove the body.

"I want this blood gone – absolutely not a stain! If you have to ask your mother, sister, or gal for the right solvent: I want the best floor cleaner in here by lunch!"

Bae suddenly noticed the phone left detached on his desk, gesturing at Jefferson and Whale he asked,

"What's that about?"

"Was ringing off the hook," Whale complained. "Made us all nervous as shit!"

Bae excused all men to his stated tasks as he moved to sit behind his desk; flipping through the FBI agent's book. He read each page three times; memorizing each turn of phrase so he could repeat the contents back to Emma perfectly. Word for word. Line for line.

With a flick of his thumb, his lighter ignited in his hand. Bae careful moved the book over the flame. Watching as it started to smoke; hissing as the leather wilted and bubbled. Suddenly, the flame was spreading up the spine. Engulfing the dangerous contents as if they'd never existed to start.

Bae was so focused on watching the evidence burn he was shocked when the fire reached the tips of his fingers. He cast the still burning book into his metal trash bin; watching still as the whole thing was burned. Calm again when he realized if was unrecognizable. Now just a puddle of ash and leather at the bottom of rubbish.

He stayed to ensure the blood was removed. The body well hidden. The speakeasy cleared of all suspect. Which was fortunate, for no other man stepped forward to retrieve the fallen FBI agent's gun. Bae scoped it up, tossing it to Whale.

"I want this at the bottom of the ocean. Add some weights and leave it to sink."

He walked through the speak one last time; eyes searching for anything off. Walked into the backroom and was pleased to find it as it usually was. He moved over to the desk to replace the phone on the stand – it instantly started buzzing with life; ringing.

Bae paused to compose himself before lifting the phone to his ear.

"Hello –"

Bae- boss! Where have you been? I've tried everywhere – sent runners all over town –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! And what is the next issue to resolve? Shit August – please tell me the shipment got to town! I can't take anymo –"

"You need to get down to the hospital: pronto! Your wife isn't the easiest doll to deal with – and this kid is gonna be a real pill!"

Bae froze; clutching the phone like a life line.

"Emma's having the baby?"

"Had the baby by now – I've been trying for hours! Honestly, boss –"

"She's had the baby – is she okay? Is the baby healthy? Boy or girl?"

"Don't know, boss – they called Mrs. Swan in a while back. Nothing official to report."

"But Emma is –"

"Don't know, boss – I'm not exactly a family member. No one seemed too worried about –"

"I'm heading to the car right now – if you get to see Emma… or if Mrs. Swan comes out: relay that I had an emergency but I'm on my way!"

Bae left the speak without talking to one of the men; jumped into the yellow car drove through Atlantic City like a mad man. He was lucky Emma had already tested the car's speed; worked the gears into a state where rapidly flying down the roadways was natural.

The yellow car roared through the streets.

Passer-byers watched with concern. Bae nearly hit pedestrians; leaving waving fists following his progress through town. Nothing else mattered as he parked in front of the hospital; jumping over the car instead of opening the door.

He remembered his way to the maternity ward; he'd often mapped out the path in anticipation. He'd run it in his dreams even.

Bae ran past August; feeling the man good naturedly pat him on the back – a joke about enjoying a cigar first. But Bae kept moving forward instead.

He hadn't dreamt of the surly nurse holding him back in the waiting room; he was barely able to form his reply.

"…my…my wife -"

"Your name, sir!"

"Gold. Mr. Bae Gold!"

She gave instructions to a younger nurse; the poor girl having to pull him into another room; overlooking a long, glass window.

Rows of little cribs; nondescript little, red faces just sticking out of their tightly wrapped blankets. Bae counted seven babies until the nurse stopped; pointing to one near the window.

"Number eight," she announced. "Baby Boy Gold."

A son. They'd had a son. Bae felt pride surging through his veins. His nose pressed into the glass window as he eagerly took in the face of his son; his legacy.

The baby's head looked lumpier than Bae'd imagined. Truth be told, he'd never been around a baby before – let alone a newborn. Just images in media. The babies in movies. Soft, cherub illustrations in greeting cards and posters. Nothing like this!

His little boy was not crying like the fools around him; just smacking his gums about. Turning his little face to both sides; the tightly wrapped blanket preventing his movements fully.

No hair visible. But dark eyes that - although Bae might just be a proud papa gloating here - seemed to take in everything at once.

He studied the little face closely; trying to separate the infant's traits and categorize where they'd come from. Emma's nose and mouth he thought – Emma!

"My wife! Is she-"

"Mrs. Gold is in stable condition. Bleed a bit more than expected but the doctor managed to stop it fast enough. She had some adverse reactions to the ether Mrs. Swan insisted upon -"

"So…she's fine! She's –"

"Both mommy and baby are perfectly healthy."

Bae released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding; turning back to his son in the opposite room.

"Since baby Gold is a bit early," the nurse explained. "Doc thought it best to keep him under observation for the first week or so. Luckily, he was fully formed. A healthy weight for a premature infant…"

She smiled at him; Bae tousling his own hair in discomfort. His attention still placed on the little boy seemingly trying to escape his blanket imprisonment.

"Can I – can I see my wife?"

"Certainly – if you want. Most father's see the kid and then return to the waiting room for the ' _ceremonial_ ' cigar smoke with the fellas –"

"I'd like to see my wife. Now!"

He amazed himself to find the boss persona releasing on the young nurse; but it got her moving fast enough. With one final look at his son, Bae followed the nurse towards the private room Mary Margaret Swan insisted on for Emma.

Mrs. Swan was seated by the bedside; knitting. The start of a little sock made of soft blue yarn.

Hadn't the woman been bragging last time about finishing a pair of socks for the baby? There - discarded by Mrs. Swan's handbag was a pair of pink socks. Mrs. Swan hadn't gotten her wish of a little girl, Bae noted with a smirk. 

Emma, wrapped in a warm, yellow dressing gown, laying on a narrow cot. Eyes closed to the world around her. Little curls twisted around her face; sticking to her forehead with dried sweat. Bae thought his wife asleep; gingerly walking forward to stand by the side of her bed.

Mary Margaret glanced up as he walked; lips pressing together and twisting like she'd just eaten a sour lemon. But she said nothing; attention quickly returning to her knitting.

Bae reached to grasp Emma's hand; running his fingers across her smooth flesh. Somewhere, in the back of his head, Bae Gold felt tainted. By his actions as a bootlegger. By directing other men, some older than himself, over properly dumping a body.

Far too tainted to get to touch Emma – but he still could! She still allowed it; still delighted in his attentions. He'd surely trapped this beautiful creature into marriage but she still opened her eyes and smiled tiredly up at him.

"Hello husband," she mumbled; eyes blinking to keep awake.

" –lo wife." Bae leaned forward to brush a kiss along her forehead. "Thank you –"

Emma arched an eyebrow in confusion.

"Thank you for letting me be part of this family," Bae explained. Emma flashed him a smug smile in response.


	21. Golden Hostess

“Higher,” Emma directed to the men trying to hang a giant banner over the orchestra stage. After months of work, Emma felt immense pride regarding the golden banner that read, “ _Happy New Year_!” The last few years had provided so much – in late 1921 she’d married her husband. Her baby born in 1922 – how could 1923 not prove just as satisfying for her branch of the Gold family?

 _The Palm Rooms_ had been purchased as a gift for their son at his birth – Emma and Bae agreeing they needed a legitimate business-front. Emma suspected it was also a ploy to keep her from being more hands-on with their other ventures – but kept that fight for another day! And she so liked being a restaurateur… or at least thought she would – once the restaurant reopened tonight as _the Golden Palms_.

Bae had blushed like a schoolboy when she’d announced the renaming – the space having such a hold on his childhood fanciful memories, Emma took great care over what was to change. The ‘ _jungle_ ’- as Bae called it- simply had to remain; plants trailing ever higher on to classical columns she’d had added to the façade. The white wicker remained – it and the columns added a touch of controlled colonialism to the chaos surrounding. She’d had a marble dance floor added in the center; checked tiles of black and white -along with an elaborate stage she dreamed could host the most popular musical acts of the age!

 The workers seemed content that the set-up was completed for the party– musicians tuning their instruments as Emma glided across the room; straightening chairs that might have been perfectly fine without her. A speck of invisible dust taunted her from each setting. Waiters began exiting the kitchen with trays – sparkling ciders twinkling mockingly at her as they passed by. The newest smash from Chicago arrived in the form of non-alcoholic cocktails and sodas. But only sugary fizzes for a New Year’s Eve sensation seemed too out of sorts for Emma.

Especially when she knew how well-stocked their warehouses were down by the docks. Year from now, Bae had promised, their two businesses could openly merge. Prohibition could not possibly last forever. Someday _the Golden Palms_ would supply cocktails and booze. And be the absolute toast of Atlantic City – just not tonight. Not yet.

A low whistle snapped Emma’s attention away from the tables. Strong arms encircled her waist as Bae’s raspy voice reached her ears,

“My, my, my – aren’t you stunning tonight! And to think some lucky fella will be taking you home –“

“It remains to be seen who,” Emma quipped back with a laugh; turning around only to claim his lips. She smiled into the kiss when Bae’s fingers brushed across the beading of her dress – he’d noticed, she was sure! She’d chosen to wear head-to-toe gold for the event – a reminder to all of who she was now: a Gold. Not a Swan – not the granddaughter of Blanchard. Emma was Mrs. Gold and damn well proud of the fact!

 “I’ve got a surprise for you,” Bae mumbled as he nuzzled against her cheek.

Lowering her voice, Emma chastised, “I’m not feeling up for another ‘ _quickie_ ’, Bae. I’ve so much on my mind – my stomach is in knots still –“

 “No – I mean… I’d never be one to pass on sex- but something else,” he fumbled through his dinner jacket’s pocket; bringing forth a long, velvet box. “It’s really more a surprise from Jack –“

“ _Jackson_ ,” Emma corrected quickly.

“Only because you filled out the birth certificate without me –“

“You wanted ‘ _Jack Gold_ ’: I made it dignified- ”

“Kid’s gone from ‘degenerate gambler’ to an old southern General!“

 Emma, forgetting completely about the gift in hand, braced herself for a fight. Grabbing a fist full of Bae’s hair, Emma gave it a light tug as she cooed, “A ‘Gold’ presidency: who would you vote for? Plain old’ Jack Gold – Or Jackson H. Gold?”

“So now you and papa are working together on that front,” Bae realized with a sigh. “Go ahead – open your present! I dangled a couple of options over the future President’s crib – and he made the unanimous decision that mommy needed that one!“

Emma opened the box to find yards upon yards of pearls sitting on a satin cushion. The numerous strings of pearls held together by a golden clasp and brooch on the side. The golden brooch was shaped like a scallop with rows of intricate diamonds leading down to a single pearl -eluding different shades of peach in the light –resting at the base.

“The future President choose right,” Bae asked; his nose scrunching as he awaited approval.

“I’ll say,” Emma answered with a laugh; finding herself overwhelmed by the gift. Her fingers played with the clasp – dropping the pearl necklace back into the box to plant fierce kisses all over her husband’s face. Bae seemed all the more hungry – hands spanning the bare skin of her back as his tongue entered the kiss – 

An agitated throat cleared in their direction. Emma peaked her head other Bae’s shoulder to see a stately couple – probably past sixty in age  - glaring at the younger’s very public display.

Emma noticed the restaurant was filling fast with elegantly dressed couples – their guests for the evening. Really was a pity she couldn’t have a stiff drink, Emma thought as she surveyed the elder couple nearest her again; trying to offer them the serene-hostess smile her mama always used.

Bae bashfully implored them, “It’s okay – we’re married!”

But the couple marched onward; utterly disgusted.

Emma smacked Bae’s shoulder, “Nothing sounds more guilty than announcing ‘ _we’re married_ ’. Rings more: I’ve got a wife shacked up in the country and this is my mistress –“

“But we are married,” Bae stammered awkwardly. “You know, we’ve made it past the first year now!”

“I realized,” Emma replied with sarcasm. “Was there for our anniversary dinner – remember?”

“Well it’s difficult for me,” admitted Bae. “Our anniversary is pretty close to my mistress’s and mine’s anniversary and I- “

Emma grew stern, “That’s not funny, Bae.” 

“Only teasing,” he assured her; kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

“All fun and games – but realize if I ever have any cause to think you’ve been unfaithful: _she’ll_ have her eyes scratched out and you’ll be thrown to the curb unable to father more children -”

“Christ, Emma! Why would I ever need to be? I have the perfect life. A wife brimming with sex appeal; loving, nurturing –“

“Go on,” Emma pleaded; feeling quite pleased with herself.

“ – a raging, maniacal-murderess in wait –“

“Shut up and help me put this on,” she gestured angrily to the box; pouting as she turned around and pressed her back into her husband. She didn’t appreciate her husband joking about having a mistress – her mama already implied as much on a regular basis. And while Emma knew what Bae really did on his evenings out – it didn’t take away the sting when Mrs. Swan made jabs about him never being home.

The real slight was reminding Emma of her darker side, though. A part of her did seem far too inclined towards their criminal enterprise. And while she relished the control and power she’d wield at _the Golden Palms_ for the last few months – it was a different sensation when she walked into their newest speakeasy by Bae’s side.

There was an intoxicating rush that came from breaking federal laws. And Emma had to smirk when she regarded the finished restaurant around her – the opening of their straight business would allow so much more of her time spent on their other endeavors. And her Bae hadn’t even realized it yet!

Bae was fumbling behind her – smelling her bobbed hair as he draped the pearls slowly along her front.  Emma might have pressed her buttocks too suggestively into his front – earning a gentle kiss on the back of her neck. The clasp couldn’t have been that difficult, Emma knew. But she was loving power as of late – even the power she held over her husband.

Unfortunately, her eyes turned to the entrance the moment her father-in-law arrived – allowing Emma to see his escort for the evening. 

“Bae,” she elbowed him in the gut to get his attention; craning her head towards the door. “Is your father planning on going to war with my mother and the Mills’ in the new year?” 

There was no mistaking Belle French entering on his arm. She even appeared to be giggling over something the old gruff said – _what the actual hell_? Emma turned to her husband for a answer – finding Bae regarding the scene with equal confusion.

“Why is your father bringing my mother’s right-hand gal tonight? Mama is going to have an absolute episode –“

“Nah -,” Bae shuttered; shaking his head slightly. “They probably just arrived at the same time –“

Mr. Gold was politely helping Miss French out of a fur coat – which could possibly be excused as the right time – right place coincidence Bae wanted to cling to. But Mr. Gold than steered her graciously through the arriving crowd; helping her to a glass of _fizzy Chicago_ near the stage.

“Your father is on a date,” exclaimed Emma; watching the display like she’d observe animals at a zoo.

Bae remained firm, “He’s never looked at a woman – my entire life, Emma. I’m sure there’s some kind of reason –“

“I think he just blushed,” Emma noticed; watching the sweet way Miss French reached up to caress his arm as they talked. “ – You two blush alike!”

“Emma –,” Emma felt the weight of the clasp and brooch fall against her skin. It was funny how quickly Bae could fasten the necklace when he was really trying. She felt her body shift off him as Bae moved to cross the space. “I’m getting to the bottom of this,” he declared in a huff.

“ _Your papa has a lady-friend_ ,” Emma sing-songedly jeered at Bae’s retreating form.

“- that’s not even the worst of it,” Mrs. Swan’s voice interrupted as she arrived across from her daughter – Mr. Swan trailing after her obediently.

“Hello mama,” Emma greeted. “And daddy –“ she stepped forward to kiss her father’s cheek. “I’m so glad you both could come –“ 

“He comes to meetings now,” Mrs. Swan lamented; looking far too worn in her evening wear and tiara headpiece.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Emma’s daddy proudly remarked; looking around the room in awe. “You kids have done wonders!”

Emma smiled at the compliment – but knew what truly needed to be inquired next, “ _Who_ comes to _what_ meetings, mama?”

“Gold,” mama spat. “And he comes to _ALL_ meetings now? Suddenly wildly interested in women’s voting rights. And, this very week, came to our Temperance League – I’m positive he’s trying to drive me insane! Knows I’m the only hope in his grandchild – “

“Yours as well,” Emma reminded her; rolling her eyes with her father behind Mrs. Swan’s back – action missed only because Mrs. Swan was currently glaring across the dance floor at both Mr. Golds.

“ – in his grandchild not becoming a complete heathen!”

Emma cleared her throat; uncomfortable with the current climate – smirking when her daddy declared the music both ‘ _exciting_ ’ and ‘ _fresh_ ’. She’d auditioned a lot of acts for this night –

“Am I to assume Miss French is a member at all these functions,” Emma chanced; Mr. Swan now swaying to the beat of the music as he watched the dancers jive.

“Of course! I don’t know how I could keep going without her – some of these women still refuse to speak with me –“ 

“Then I’d say Mr. Gold’s interests are more sharing the same air as Miss French – not with driving you to an early grave.”

“But is it not ridiculous,” Mrs. Swan whispered to her daughter. “A man his age trying to play the Lothario –“ 

On cue, Mr. Gold escorted his date to the dance floor; managing a slowed-down box step instead of the livelier dancers around them. Belle French seemed no worse for wear because of it – smiling up at him as they moved across the floor.

“Miss French seems to have no objections,” Emma pointedly said. 

Her mother was wise to change the subject, “Is little Gold sleeping through the night yet?”

“Oh – Bae’s always been a restless sleeper, mama! Can’t see that changing anytime soon,” Emma laughed; helping herself to a fizzy soda as it passed on a tray – wishing it could be something much stronger.

“I meant the baby, Emma,” mama gritted through her teeth – clearly not amused at Bae being discussed; or reminded that Emma still shared a bed with her ‘ _no-good_ ’ husband.

“Ah,” Emma continued to feign ignorance. “Jackson. Jack is sleeping wonderfully – always a perfect angel. When he’s tired nothing can stop him from napping wherever he is –“

“I hope you’re implementing a proper sleep schedule,” Mrs. Swan worried. 

“Sort of,” Emma bit her lip; wondering if maybe she wasn’t a strict enough parent. “If he makes a fuss at night, I usually just take Jack for a drive around town. He loves the car – and he’s out like a light by the time we get home –“

“That’s not wise, Emma,” complained Mrs. Swan. “There needs to be a fixed location in his head of where he sleeps - he needs to know the moment you place him in the crib it’s sleepy-time.”

With her husband’s attention still focused on the band and new dances, Mrs. Swan stepped closer to whisper in her daughter’s ear, “And you must do something about your husband –“

“I’ve tried the same tactic,” Emma admitted with a faked exasperated sigh. “I take Bae for long drives – knocks him right out as well. Trouble is -where Jack stays out for hours – Bae will be awake again soon!”

Emma knew full well her mother’s concerns were not over Bae’s insomnia – but found herself chuckling slightly at her own reply. Her drives with Bae usually resulted in passionate love-making. Sex: the real remedy that could give her husband hours of calm, uninterrupted sleep.

“What are we talking about,” Bae stepped into the group; patting Mr. Swan’s shoulder fondly. “Great to see ya,” Bae greeted the older man.

“What’s that called,” Mr. Swan directed to his son-in-law excitedly; pointing to a pair of dancers nearby.

Emma and Bae’s eyes both darted towards a young couple dancing cheek-to-cheek; their middles gyrating against the other’s as feet interlocked and dragged across the floor.

“The shimmy,” Bae answered with a grin; eyeing Emma with desire.

“Golly - I think I might have liked being born into your generation,” Mr. Swan addressed to Bae and Emma. “Everything seems so awfully exciting now-a-days!”

Emma smiled at her father – noting her mother’s face scandalized by the shimmying dancers’ tight embrace.

“You know-  Emma is quite the dancer,” Bae boasted with pride. “I’m inexcusably rotten – but can at least manage a waltz. Care for a dance, Mrs. Swan?”

Emma tried not to laugh as her mama’s eyes bulged outward – staring at Bae’s hand like it an offensive weapon.

“Sounds marvelous,” Emma encouraged after her mother’s prolonged silence. “And why you two waltz – I’ll teach daddy to Charleston!”

Emma grinned as Bae led her mama to the floor; oozing charm as they began to waltz. She grabbed her daddy excitedly – removing his arm from her shoulder as he prepared for something at least resembling a waltz.

“Nope- completely different, daddy,” she coached; flaring out her arms and legs - encouraging him to follow suit. The two laughed as they fluttered about in a small corner of the ballroom; the year 1923 steadily approaching like a steam engine on cocaine.

As midnight approached; cushioned at Bae side, Emma counted off with their guests:

 

“10 –“

 

“-9.”

Mama and daddy stood a foot away; leaning on a column – both looking younger than they’d felt in years. Daddy had even convinced her to try to shimmy a bit. Emma almost sighed when she saw Mr. Swan kiss his wife’s forehead lovingly.

 

“8-“

 

“7 –“

 

“-6”

 

“5!”

 

Bae was making a point of not looking to his left – where Mr. Gold and Miss French stood. A very political move, Emma realized of her father-in-law; to include Miss French. And have her joining the ranks of the rest of the family as they rang in the new year. The opening of _the Golden Palms_ was a raging success – an event the whole of Atlantic City would remember for years to come. And of course people would remember how Miss French stood with the family as the new year started. An imprinted memory of just where Miss French belonged. 

 

“4-“

 

“3!”

 

“-2!”

 

“1!”

 

“Happy New Year,” rang through the crowd; couples racing into kisses as the band began to play ‘ _Auld Lang Syne_ ’. Emma heard her father’s booming voice singing along – followed by the rest of the partygoers. Bae’s arm rested on her shoulder; bringing Emma close for a lingering kiss. 

“Happy New Year, Mrs. Gold,” he muttered tiredly before kissing her again.

“Save some for later,” Emma joked. Leaning in to return the kiss. They still had to make an appearance at an after-party held at their speakeasy – as soon as the more proper guests (her parents included) decided to call it a night. 

Within an hour, Emma guessed with a smirk, the real party would begin!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only part one of their New Year's Eve. The real start of 1923 for the Gold's - and a much anticipated moment for me - will be following soon! No one throws an after-party like Mr. and Mrs. Gold!


	22. A Desperate Man

“You don’t find it all just a little suspicious,” sneered Bae to his father; arms crossed in unison across their middles, faces turning to eye the other as the coat-check searched to retrieve both Emma and Belle’s coats in a deep closet by the door. 

Fortunately, they were alone. Emma was showing Belle around behind the band stage and Mr. and Mrs. Swan had already left into the snowy night – giving Bae the opportunity to speak with his papa and not worry about lurking ears.

“You tell me New York might have a spy in our mists,” Bae continued briskly. “And – what luck? A young dame is giving you the time of day! Come on, papa: you can’t be falling for this –“

“Quiet your voice,” his papa snapped; nodding his head to return regard to a group of politicians exiting _the Golden Palms_. 

Bae obeyed; looking around frantically to ensure no one noticed their exchange. Taking a step closer to his papa, Bae muttered, “You’re the one telling me the stakes are life and death. Even more – I’ve a kid at home; sleeping right now. And Emma prefers me without a hundred bullet holes–“

“You’re being overdramatic,” papa replied dryly. “The relationship between Miss French and myself has absolutely nothing to do with –“

“Relationship,” Bae laughed without an ounce of mirth. “You’ve gotten yourself a young piece of ass –“

Bae noticed his papa physically cringe at the crassness – but couldn’t bring himself to care; anger raging through his overtired body that could not bring itself to be controlled. 

“ – and it’s a cliché, papa. A cliché as old as time: the old mayor and the bright eyed ingénue! But you told me what would slip us up – told me mistresses and ‘silly wives’ were high on the list. But it’s not an issue when you flaunt your mistress –“

“Miss French is not my mistress. She’s a friend. A friend who supplies the companionship I’ve been lacking –“ 

“I don’t want to hear about your sex-life,” Bae interrupted quickly. “I just need you to hear what I’m about to tell you: I’ve tested your theory – put some feelers out to see if we get any bites.” 

“ – And,” his papa prompted impatiently.

“I set-up fake drops,” Bae explained hurriedly. “Told different men – had lazily-coded messages with coordinates ‘ _hidden_ ’ in your office –“

“So that’s what those were!”

Bae nodded, “Emma and myself watched all the fake-drops – from a safe distance, of course! Hit! Hit! Hit!”

Bae hit his hand against the counter each time for emphasis – the coat-checker looked up nervously; seemingly worried the Mr. Golds were growing impatient with their wait.

“I knew I was right,” papa remarked smugly.

“Yeah, yeah – you’re right. But Mills’ men turned up at drops I’d left in your office as well – curious, right?”

“And why would Miss French be a suspect?”

“So she’s never begged to see your offices? Claimed to need a pen at a late hour – been fascinated with your telegraph machine and played with it while you ran across the street for sandwiches?”

His papa was glaring now; chest pumping upward rapidly.

“You’ve been having me watched,” the elder Gold accused.

Bae shrugged, “I’ve been having everyone watched – and it’s lucky I have. You’ve been slipping, papa. She’s a chink in your armor – and it’s leaving us all exposed.”

He saw a shadow cross his papa’s face – a stoic change from how carefree his papa had looked all evening. Feeling a moment of guilt, Bae assured him, “I don’t say this to be heartless – only to have you think on it. There’s too much at risk for us to not be more cautious.”

“We’ll -,” his papa stammered. “We’ll talk on this tomorrow. Bring Emma – we’ll put our heads together and sniff out this mole.”

Bae clasped his papa’s shoulder, about to speak – but heard his wife’s infectious laughter approach from behind. Sure enough, Emma was walking in their direction – arm and arm with Miss French as the two giggled about something. Bae plastered a smile on his face – his papa's face continued to be solemn as he helped Miss French into her coat.

“It was a lovely evening,” Miss French – all so amiable – proclaimed to both Bae and Emma. 

Bae felt tension slightly release when Emma rested her head on his shoulder. Staring at Miss French, Bae found himself silently imploring her to just admit guilt. And it had to be Belle, he’d convinced himself. She’d gone to college around New York – returning under the guise of helping her ailing father. Mr. French seemed to be doing well enough, Bae had observed; smoking across the street as Maurice walked easily about a frosted garden last week.

It made sense to assume Miss French had formed a connection in New York – maybe a charming band leader at a club, or Regina Mills herself. When August had informed him the various times she’d managed to be alone at his papa’s office, there seemed to be only one possibility for a spy. Pity though, Bae thought bitterly. He wanted to think his papa stronger than to fall for this falsehood – or even hoped his papa could have an honest companion like he seemed to crave.  

“Maybe you could join us for a show sometime,” Miss French chanced; looking far too hopeful and pleasant. Bae cringed, realizing she was likely trying to seduce himself and Emma now; to lure them into as equal a comfort as his papa.

“That would be swell,” an energetic Emma cheered. Looking at him excitedly, Emma started to explain, “Belle was telling me they saw a great musical on the boardwalk –“ 

“A musical-comedy review... for Christmas,” his papa uttered; scowling at the younger Golds in challenge; daring them to mock. Bae noticed his papa’s hands shaking as they presented an arm for Miss French. 

“From New York,” Miss French gushed. “I felt almost home again!”

Sensing the opportunity for his own little reconnaissance, Bae spoke up, “Really? Thought you’d been raised here – New York must have been an experience!”

Emma and his papa were the only one’s who seemed to notice something amiss in his voice. And, since he’d not told Emma about his suspicions, she now looked up at him confused.

“Oh – once one’s live there, no where else can compare,” Belle assured them all with a laugh. Emma joining in as Bae and herself trailed after them – casting a warning glance in his direction as they bid his papa and Miss French farewell. 

“What was all that about,” Emma demanded when they were alone. She casually took the driver seat – as Bae comfortably spread himself across the passenger.

“I’m not sure I trust her,” he admitted with a yawn.

“Please – what could Belle French ever do to us? She’s as sweet as pie – do you think she’s hiding a machine gun under her skirt,” Emma laughed at the idea as she started the engine. With a jerk, Bae felt them soaring into the night – little flurries of snow pelting his forehead. But Emma did so love driving with the top down; the wind ripping through her hair like a mustang’s mane.

“Just because she’s not an obvious mobster doesn’t mean she’d not reporting back to them,” cautioned Bae.

Emma turned to stare at him over her shoulder, “You think she’s our guy –“ 

“Girl,” Bae corrected. “And I don’t know. We definitely have someone reporting back to the Mills’ about our drop-points and outgoing shipments –“

“But not our suppliers,” Emma reminded him as she maneuvered the car around a tight turn. “Not where the shipments are coming in –“

“Nope: much easier to have our people do the hard work of getting booze into the States,” Bae smirked; closing his eyes and pondering a quick nap before the after-party. “And then just ‘ _happen_ ’ upon all those crates as we’re moving them –“

Bae felt his body rush against the side of the car; gripping the door for support as Emma made a hasty stop on the side of a lone country road – the sound of their speak’s jazz music not yet filtering to their ears. Cracking his eyes open, Bae found Emma beaming next to him; a sultry smile as she scooted closer to his body heat.

“You make the most darling expressions when you’re tired,” she noted; peppering kisses along his jawbone. “ – when you’re tired and plotting: drives a gal to distraction!”

Bae closed his eyes again; cherishing the moment as Emma shifted to sit on top of him – her lips never leaving his skin unattended for long. Bae could feel their heated breathes mingling through the cold air – snowflakes falling more steadily now; beating against the leather seats. He released little pants of air as Emma’s tongue skimmed against his ear – a hearty moan when he felt her hand reach into his pants. She was toying with him, Bae was sure. Fingers plying through his outerwear – grazing the sensitive, bare, skin beneath.

When Emma finally took his cock in her hand, Bae’s eye were forced open – regarding an ethereal creature hovering above him. Short, golden curls splattered with fluffy snow flakes. And the most intoxicating grin on her face. She might have found his tiredness appealing – but Bae knew there was nothing more sexy in this world than Emma when she knew she held all the power.

Casually, she pumped his member; leaning forward to kiss him again.

“Seduce me,” she released in a throaty plea; her clothed hips rocking wantonly against his freed cock. “Come on – tell me the naughtiest things you can –“

“I think I should warn you,” Bae grated; rolling his own hips upward.

“Yes,” Emma’s voice cracked. “Warn me!” 

She giggled with delight; raising her dress higher as she repositioned herself against him.

Feeling physical pain, Bae admitted, “Honestly: I’ve only got about one more proper fuck in me. So you can cash that in now – or we can work in, like, three quickies over the rest of the evening –“

Emma instantly stilled – hand rushing out of his pants as she glared at him.

“ _Be still my beating heart_ ,” she scoffed.

“Only being honest,” Bae coaxed. “I haven’t slept in… over forty-eight hours at this point. I am slowly becoming as paranoid and twitchy a leader as Napoleon was –“

“You’re comparing yourself to Napoleon now,” Emma asked with concern. 

“ – I am the Napoleon Bonaparte of Atlantic City! And, since I pride myself in giving nothing be incredible sexual sessions –“

Emma rolled her eyes at him; bracing herself against his shoulders as she fixed her garter belt.

“I am afraid to ask,” Emma started. “ – but curiosity has won out. What do you consider this ‘ _proper fuck_ ’? How does it differ from my usual –“

“You are always getting and giving ‘ _proper_ ’,” Bae cheekily replied. “It’s an issue of stamina on my end. When you count in this morning, after breakfast, at the office, in the study – it all adds up!”

Emma smirked down at him, “If the issue is stamina: don’t worry –“ She looked far too sweet as she arched against him again. “ – I’ll do all the work this time around.”

Everything seemed to become either hot or cold. The snow falling onto his eye lashes and cheeks – only to be melted when Emma pressed her warm skin against his. Warmth and need was Emma. Emma was ravishing him; kissing and touching as Bae howled in ecstasy – eyes opening and closing as his wife moved above him.

He almost didn’t process the light cutting into the darkness – everything blending in a swirl of snow and Emma when his eyes opened. The honking of a car allowed for his mind to connect what was happening. Headlights blaring towards them with men hanging out a car’s windows. In a fluid motion, Bae acted. And there was only one thing to be done. He penned Emma beneath him – using himself as a shield when the sound of gunfire echoed over the snowy road. He felt the car bounce upward when the fire made impact. The sound of jeering and laughter fading into the night. Bae peaked his head over the car’s door to watch the retreating car blaze off into the still darkness – back towards the city.

“Bae – ,” Emma, usually boisterous, faintly cried. Her hands moved to the back of his neck; holding him tightly against her as she soothed into his ear.

“It’s alright,” she claimed. Bae realized he was shaking – wondering if he’d been shot. But Emma kept murmuring gently into his ear. A similar treatment to what Jack got when he’d cry.

“It was firecrackers,” her voice broke. “Just firecrackers. Some assholes’ idea of a joke –“

But Bae couldn’t shake the feeling of dread – the event projected in his thoughts over and over again as they drove to the speak. Something prophetic seemed to resonate from beneath the surface; leaving Bae to question if he was being propelled towards his own funeral this year.

He entered the speak with Emma on his arm – a fiercer couple he doubted the majority of those gathered would ever see. He nodded to his men – smiled warmly at familiar faces as they walked towards the bar. People patting his back and hollering towards the Golds, “ _Happy New Year!_ ” But when Emma leaned in to kiss his cheek, Bae saw her draped all in black; a widow in the making instead of the golden, jolly flapper.

Even with drinks in hand, he felt danger crawling after them. When arms grabbed and pulled Emma away – Bae almost attacked. But thank heavens he’d not! Alexandra emerged from behind the mob, bringing Emma into a hug as the two females toasted to the New Year.

“Can you believe it,” Alexandra called to him; arms linked around Emma still. Miss Boyd was panting – obviously she’d been dancing throughout the night. “- 1923?”

“And how,” Emma agreed; clinking her glass against both Alexandra’s and Bae’s in turn. 

“I’m feeling positively goofy,” admitted Alexandra. “Can you guess why?” 

Bae scanned the heads of the gathered crowd; only half-listening as the gears of his head continued to turn to any and every fear he could concoct.

“Too much of the good stuff,” he guessed.

Alexandra squealed with delight, “No – I’ve never been much for drinking,” she assured them; taking a sip of her drink in beat. “I think I’ve fallen – absolutely crazy -in love with that man!”

Together, Emma and Bae craned their necks to look behind Alexandra – uncertain who she meant.

“Felix,” Emma asked first – receiving a quick rebuttal.

“No – he’s far too screwy! Can never take him seriously!”

Alexandra, the sweet, quiet girl Bae knew mainly as an extension of Emma – because when Miss Boyd was at a party: he known Emma would be there as well, seemed to be smashed. Feeling genuine concern, Bae moved to help her stand.

“Maybe it’s time to head home,” he suggested to Miss Boyd.

She shook her head rapidly, “Nah – how could I? When I feel this way –“ 

“I’d say sleep on it: you’re already in for a headache come morning –“ 

“I love August,” Alexandra declared too loudly. The packed, drinking bodies around them didn’t seem to care about the little blonde’s declaration; continuing their merriment without a thought as the smashed girl tittering about.

“ – he was fixed on Emma to start,” Alexandra prattled on. “And I never cared for being someone’s second dibs. Do you remember, Emma? He was always so attentive – guy fawned over you! Frankly, when you announced you were getting hitched, I’d assumed –“

This revelation came crashing down over Bae. He’d never – of course August had always been attentive towards Emma. They were friends. Chums! As he fumbled through their first years of marriage trying to balance work and home – it had always been August to remind him what Emma deserved; what was owed to such a perfect wife - 

Then Bae remembered the night he’d returned from Chicago. August had been at that party – hanging near Emma; laughing too loudly with her when Bae tried to approach. How had it even happened, really – how had Bae ended up making love to Emma upstairs that night? A surge of jealousy overtook him – imagining August in his place that night; making love to Emma in that isolated bedroom. 

She’d married Bae because he got her pregnant – would she have married August as easily? August had at least taken her to the hospital; been there for her… 

Was his entire life the result of an accident – a lapse of judgment on Emma’s part? Could their little family - what had become Bae’s entire world - just as easily been another man’s to protect? A man who could have managed better -

For her part, Emma appeared mortified by Alexandra’s outbursts; hushing her friend and imploring her to stop.

“But here you are,” Alexandra told Emma. “And there he is –“ she gestured across the room dramatically. “ – everyone’s moved on. Surely enough time has passed so there’s no hard feelings –“

Bae looked to the far side of the speak – there was August. Stationed near the backroom. But August was his friend, Bae heard the shy- lost boy of himself plead. August was his buddy and confidant. Even if he might have been enamored of Emma for a time –

Bae let his thoughts echo Alexandra’s words: _surely enough time has passed_. But he felt as confidant as Alexandra sounded; resolve slipping for both.

August purposefully ignored Bae’s nod of acknowledgment; turning his eyes from the Golds like he hadn’t been watching them from across the room. Something prickled the back of Bae’s neck – that feeling of dread again! He’d trusted August implicitly. But what if –

August knew about the drops – but didn’t know Emma and himself had staged fake ones; that had been their little secret. August knew Bae suspected a spy – that information was being leaked to New York. And wouldn’t a mole direct attention elsewhere? To Miss French – it was August who’d planted that thought in his head, Bae acknowledged. 

Bae had to know the truth! He moved to cross the joint – until Emma called him back.

“I think we need to take her home,” Emma solicited; steadying a weaving Alexandra. “I can’t get her there myself.”

Bae nodded, “Give me one moment – I’ve got to tell August something and we’ll leave.”

Emma looked at him utterly petrified.

“Bae – it really wasn’t –“

“Business,” Bae promised her. “I just need to discuss some business concerns and we’ll leave.” 

For the first time, Bae walked away from Emma with shoulders square; ignoring any of her frantic calls to return.

He cornered August near the backroom door; slapping a hand down onto August’s shoulder with a dark laugh.

“Happy New Year,” Bae proclaimed; gripping August tighter than he’d planned. “Come – share a drink with me.”

Without leaving a moment for August to devise an excuse, Bae steered him to the back; his desk gleaming in the low light.

“We have a lot to celebrate this year,” Bae observed; pouring August a drink.

“Peace for 1923,” Bae falsely toasted; arching an eyebrow when August didn’t immediately drink.

“Peace,” August asked; taking a light sip for appearance-sake.

“Yeah,” Bae feigned excitement. “Just heard from papa: Mills and Golds are starting the New Year with a cease-fire. We traded something they want for something we need –“

August inquired, “They give up part of the coast? Or a suppliers list –“

“Remembered what I told you,” Bae entreated. “How we’ve got ourselves a spy?”

Bae wondered if he was seeing things – August appeared to pale slightly and choke on his drink. But August was a better liar in everyway – quick to fix his face as he begged Bae to continue.

“We’ve turned over a number of suppliers,” Bae pressed. “Nothing to hurt our make – and most were closer to New York, anyways. In return: they’ve given up the scum who’s been double crossing us. What do you say to that, August?”

They entered into a long silence. Bae trying to notice any little tick in August’s demeanor that seemed off – any tell in this game. But August was a pro; calm and collected as Bae continued.

“I’ll head home tonight – and find an envelope on my desk; full of what I need to know. And Regina will find the same on her end. New Year: clean slate for us all!” 

“My,” August stammered. “- that is something to celebrate.” 

August raised his glass for a half-hearted toast – which Bae returned with gusto; smashing his glass hard against August’s; leaving both shaking from the aftermath.

“Sorry to leave so quickly,” Bae bellowed as he finished his drink. “But the _Mrs_. insists on us calling it an early one!”

The darkest part of Bae’s psyche relished the suggestive note of the comment as he looked across at his once rival.

“Your wife is certainly one to get her way,” August bitterly retorted.

“In more ways than one,” Bae observed as he headed for the door. Poking his head back-in only to grin once more, “Hope it’s a good year for you.”

With a final trap in place, Bae searched the crowd – finding Emma and Alexandra once more; Emma struggling to keep Alexandra upright at this point. 

“Isn’t he a stoic doll,” Alexandra gushed. Bae nodded briskly as he heaved Alexandra onto his shoulder, carrying her out of the speak.

An hour later – well passed two in the morning – Emma and Bae arrived home after depositing Alexandra safe in her bed. Bae unlocked the door to find the Swan’s housekeeper asleep on their couch. 

“Johanna,” Emma gently woke her. “We fixed up the guest bedroom for you –“

The older woman shook her head, “Can never sleep long away from home – would have been silly to dirty your nice sheets.”

“We wouldn’t have minded,” Emma assured her; taking off her coat. “Hope Jackson behaved –“

“Perfect angel,” Johanna raved. “Got a little fussy towards the end –“ 

“Like his father,” Emma remarked; clearly annoyed that Bae hadn’t spoken or made eye contact with her since they’d left the speak. Undoing his tie, Bae walked towards the nursery. When Bae opened the door, he was greeted by his son trying to lift himself over the side. 

“You’re not supposed to be up,” Bae murmured as he lifted Jack upward; cradling his son close.

Bae proceeded to dance about the room; humming lowly to his son – but it was getting no results. Jack had heard his parents voices and was waiting for mommy - 

“Are you going to talk to me or what?”

 Emma was leaning against the doorway; eyeing Bae as he danced.

“Or what,” Bae answered. “Did you talk Johanna into using the guest room?” 

“No. She’d borrowed my parents’ car and insisted on heading back to her place.  – It really was not a big deal, Bae. Innocent, truly –“

“If it was so innocent: why am I only hearing about it now? Why – years after the fact – have both you and August been avoiding it like the plague!”

Jack squirmed; unsettled that Bae had raised his voice. Emma was quick to take Jack in her arms; cooing down at him sweetly.

“What a big boy you are now. Not even a year old and you’ve seen two different years: 1922 and 1923. And mommy loves to hear everyone praise you so. Everyone says you’re a sweet little thing – and daddy and I positively agree –“ 

Jack gargled up at them – graciously accepting each gentle word uttered from his doting mother.

“I’m sorry,” Bae addressed to them both; moving over to kiss Jack’s little forehead. He heard Emma singing softly as he walked away – the words to a fast jive slowed into a lullaby:

 

“ _The jim, jam, jump is a solid jive  
Makes you nine foot tall when you’re four foot five,_

_Hep-hep! Hep- Hep!_

_Now, don’t be a ickeroo,_

_Get hip and follow through,  
Make the joint jump like the gators do –_ “

 

Bae found a moment of joy as he heard her voice flicker into their bedroom; taking off his suit and placing it neatly on the back of a chair – like papa always had. No seam left out of place. Left only in his boxers and undershirt, Bae sat on the bed to take off his shoes.

“I can never think of any good lullabies,” Emma explained as she entered the room; throwing her heels down near the door.

“Jives suit you both,” Bae replied with a weak smile.

“Thanked Jackson for the pearls,” Emma chanced. “Little guy’s pretty enamored with the sea shell –“ Emma gestured to the brooch as she crossed the room – sitting next to Bae. She busied herself by starting to roll-down her stockings; glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye.

When Bae said nothing, Emma asked, “Are we going to talk about this now – or sleep on it? Because I think maybe you should just sleep first. In the morning, you’ll realize how silly it all is –“

“I just don’t see how I didn’t know –“

“Because there was nothing _to_ know. I flirted with a lot of men that summer. That’s what being a free, educated, and independent flapper meant to me: that I’d flirt about and have no obligations to anyone. It’s what lively young things do -” 

“Did you even think about me –“ 

“I barely knew you,” Emma admitted as she bit her lip; eyes staring down at her hands as she perched on the edge of their bed. “I liked you – but I was hurt. You promised to write me and there was no word. So – I acted like the spoiled child I still was! I wanted it to get back to you. I wanted you to be hurt too. I flirted with men I recalled you hanging around; men I thought might brag to you about what a hot-number you’d forgotten about –“

“Especially with August,” Bae asked.

“August was… was the more inclined to flirt back, yes.”

“So you flirted with August, led him on for weeks, and then made love to me the same night as you’d – why? Why did you even let me -” 

“I still liked you – preferred you. And you were so lost. I did not know what love was truly yet: I thought, in my naïve way, that I loved you because I wanted to fix you; make you feel good –“

“I loved you even then,” Bae broke in. “I’ve been inclined towards loving you ever since you pushed me off the boardwalk when we were kids. Seeing you again – realizing you were that little brat who grinned down at me while the rest tried to fish me out  - there was no going back from that point on.”

“Because that is your nature,” Emma observed unflinchingly. “You are the romantic – I’ve turned out to be a realist. You can read your poems and accept that love encompasses it all – but I had to experience; and learn through action. Love… it continues to change for me; to intensify. I can hardly compare wanting to ‘fix’ you and be a salve for your despair to the love I feel for you now. How can I call that ‘love’ when I know now that love is standing shoulder-to-shoulder with you; bearing the weight of the universe together.” 

Bae allowed himself to rest his forehead against her’s; to sigh as Emma brushed her fingers through his hair.

“Do you ever feel trapped,” asked Bae honestly. “ – do you ever wonder if I’ve ruined your life? I keep finding this guilt buried within me: that I’ve prevented you from living the life you deserve.”

Emma nuzzled against him, “No – I’m very happy with my life. Do you have any complaints?”

“None: I’ve lucked-out in all respects! Definitely more than I deserve –“

“Don’t sell yourself short, kid,” ordered Emma as she stood; displaying the back of her dress to Bae. “Help – undo the back so I can send you to bed. You’re far too gloomy and doomy right now! A good sleep and you’ll be refreshed. Your mind will be agile – you’ll see how you’ve just been silly about it all –“ Bae fingers worked the hooks – the golden dress released and slid off Emma’s shoulders. She turned to kiss him, “And you’ve got a wife who love’s you; fiercely so!” 

Emma than motioned for him to move for the pillows as she stepped out of the dress – dangling it sloppily next to his suit on the chair. Bae watched as he leaned against the pillows and headboard - captivated as Emma swiftly cast her underwear aside in a heap; ignoring her nightgown in favor of a silk robe only.

“Who knows,” she joked as she pulled a quilt over Bae and herself. “A little rest and I might wake up to find you as frisky as ever!”

 Emma cuddled into his side; hands gripping his undershirt as Bae found himself relaxing.

“I love you, Ems,” he breathed into her hair.

“Of course you do,” Emma remarked. “And I love you – I’d burn all of New York to the ground if I thought it would protect you. I’d swim naked through the Atlantic. I’d fight a lion with my bare hands –“

Emma’s claims continued on as they both nodded off to sleep; a deep, dreamless sleep. But sleep never did last long for Bae. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out – the room was pitch black. Emma was still curled into his shoulder and asleep; holding him close. Bae wasn’t sure what had woken him – ears straining in case Jack had stirred down the hallway. But he didn’t hear his son. Resolved to try to sleep again, he wrapped his arms tightly around Emma; listening to her even breathing and trying to mimic the calm – but he heard the front door creak as it opened. Recognized the cling of keys as someone entered their apartment.

At first, he thought it could be Johanna – maybe she’d decided to spend the night or needed to be driven now. It had been snowing and slick when they’d got home. And the older woman might have been uncomfortable, in the end, driving alone. Or maybe his papa couldn’t sleep and decided Emma, Bae, and himself needed to discuss everything immediately.

He heard the door of his study open; deliberately slow. Bae’s stomach fell when he realized his ploy had worked – though not as he’d planned. He’d have thought August would have left town if guilty; skittered after the Mills’ for protection. Not sneak into their home to steal evidence.

Moving Emma’s hands off him, Bae lifted himself from their bed. But motherhood had made Emma a much lighter sleeper –

“What’s it – is the baby…,” her groggy voice whispered at him.

“I’ve got this,” Bae told her; tucking the quilt around her. “Just go back to sleep –“

And Emma fell back against the pillows; lightly snoring again as Bae tiptoed for the hall. At first, he was using his knowledge of home to silently glide for the study – realizing that, soon enough, he’d be confronting a desperate man. Bae paused at the door – eyeing the distance between study and bedrooms. Jack’s was nearest – Emma slept far down the hall. Bae assured himself he could get to both quickly if things turned sour. His gun – and only weapon in their home– was within the study. 

An oversight, Bae bitterly realized now – for he’d feel much safer entering the study with his gun in hand. But Jack had started crawling – making Bae paranoid that, sooner than later, a curious child might have discovered the firearm.

Taking a breath, Bae threw the door open – still feeling the sting of betrayal as August stood over his desk; flying through papers in search of an envelop that never existed.

“Morning _, buddy_ ,” Bae greeted; sliding the door closed – all but a crack. “Still a little early to be paying us a visit.”

“Where is it,” August seethed; throwing a fist-full of papers on the floor. Knocking over Bae’s desk lamp in the process. The lamp turned on as it hit the wooden floor – emitting a disjointed light to the scene. Shadows became deeper as Bae stepped closer into the room; into the makeshift spotlight.

“It never existed,” Bae lamented; circling August – trying to get an opportunity to stand closer to his desk. “No peace treaty – no details on the traitor. Just a moment of intuition on my end; wondering if just maybe I’d trusted the wrong guy.”

August threw another stack of papers to the ground; slumping off to the opposite wall – pausing to light a cig before he paced the space; smoking and stomping in his wait. Bae seized the chance to move for his desk; flipping through paperwork absentmindedly as he watched August smoke and swear under his breath. As Bae's hand wandered through the drawer - needing to feel the cool metal of the gun against his fingers - he now eyed the distance from August to the door.

“You were never meant to find out,” August admitted through the smoke of his cigarette. Bae noticed his right-hand man’s fingers shaking as he attempted another drag from the cig.

Bae kept the distance intact; bracing his weight on the desk as his hand reached downward; trifling through knickknacks as he felt for the gun. But he needed to know more – Bae had to keep August talking. 

“Never thought it would be you,” Bae prompted. “Tell me: how long? Have you been reporting to New York all along or –“

“No,” promised August like a crazed man. “I swear it – I never told them anything to endanger you. It was never personal, Bae –“

“Oh, but it was! Don’t you realize that? You’ve endangered me, my wife, my son –“

“No,” sobbed August; huffing for air in the stuffy study. “I’d never betray them – or you! I – they’d offered so much! And a position and … “ 

Bae bitterly laughed, “What? Did they offer you my place? My bed – with my wife?”

August crossed the room with quick strides; overtaking Bae at the desk.

“You’ve just got to go to sleep,” August attempted to soothe as he forced his friend to the floor; knocking away Bae’s hands as they’d moved for the gun in his desk. Bae scrambled on the floor. Scratching, kneeing at anything within reach. August had more everything – height, weight, and prior experience with fist-fights. When August’s hands first wrapped themselves around his throat, Bae used his full strength to head-butt August – leaving both delirious for a moment. Thick blood oozed from August’s nose. Bae tasted his own running down his face – but fought on; dragging himself across the floorboards; searching for any weapon he could find.

There was too much at stake – not just the empire the Golds’ were building. His wife and son slept only rooms away. He could not leave them in this world without him – a selfish part of his soul fearful of how soon he might be forgotten entirely. Surely Emma was strong and would move on – his son would have no memory of him at all!

And that was what Bae Gold fought for when August towered over him again: to be remembered by those he loved. To be worthy of their memory!

He grabbed at the leg of an end table as August dragged him back to the center of the room; overturning the telephone and a vase his mother-in-law had gifted them. He heard a dial tone from the phone – the vase smashed. Bae felt tiny slivers of the porcelain attacking his still outstretched hands. There were no weapons left as August turned him over; hands once more choking him as Bae gasped for breath. He kicked his legs upward – feelings his eyes bulge out of his skull from the pressure August was applying. Bae’s limbs started to calm; all fight slipping away as he grew tired. Sleep a deadly promise of comfort as his eyes started to close – blinking open only to close themselves again.

Bae was certain himself long gone when the sound of thunder erupted inside his study. His blinking eyes witnessing a flash of light – a blaze of fire shooting out of the darkening space. He watched the light leaving his once friend’s eyes. August clutching his chest as he toppled over in death. Bae felt frozen in time and space – certain of time’s existence only because of the blood blooming from a bullet wound in August’s back.

When Bae finally registered what he’d witnessed, he managed to turn his head – his wife stood next to his desk; holding his revolver- still outright as if she’d only just fired. Where he’d have expected shock on her face, Bae was unnerved by how coolly she lowered the weapon when she’d met his gaze. Emma scanned his body – processing his injuries before allowing the gun to slip from her hand. In half a breath, Emma was in his arms; muttering at him to remain calm.

“ – Don’t stand until you’re no longer woozy,” she cautioned. A kiss on his cheek as she blotted his nose with a handkerchief to stop the bleeding.

Emma continued to coo and kiss him; nuzzling into his neck as Bae stared at August’s body from behind her shoulder.

His wife had managed to shoot August straight through the heart.


	23. Head of the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early New Year's Day - Mayor Gold contemplates his past, present, and what could have been his future.

Gold’s mind was elsewhere now. Gold compelled himself to focus on other things – to remain detached as he forced the snow-covered gate open; helping Miss French across the threshold. A street light shone over the winter scene as she slid a delicate hand once more through his arm. Gold started for the porch steps but Belle pulled him back. Together they moved towards the small gravel path of the French’s garden. It was one of their newer customs; these walks along her garden after their evenings out. Usually with neither one ready to part so soon.

However, tonight Gold could not find the same amount of enthusiasm in these walks. He plastered a neutral expression on his face; trying to march Miss French at a swift pace to the edge of the garden and back -

But Miss French commanded an idle pace as they walked through the rose hedge. The roses were all thorns in the dead of winter; twisted bark that lacked any remains of elegance or care.

If Gold possessed a heart – which was often a subject of great debate- he was certain it would be pounding to his ears when Belle looked upward to the sky; smiling at the stars and moon as snow continued to gently glide around them.

“It was a lovely evening,” Belle attempted small-talk. Remarking on the band, the dancing - any little moment that now haunted Gold; Doubt basking in the power it now held over the Mayor of Atlantic City.

Was the creature next to him nothing more than a lackey of the Mills’? Belle French had always seemed too good to be true. Far too kind to be clever – for a clever person had to see what a shit of a world they all were inhabiting. But Belle was clever, Gold knew. He’d attended every meeting. Listened to Miss French’s clear voice ringing through the chaos of chatter the rest of those silly hens made. They prattled nonsense while Belle French addressed her ideals with a clear, wonderfully decided, mind.

Truth be told, Gold knew he’d always had a partiality for head-strong women. A lifetime of softening for lovely dark-haired girls with fierce opinions seemed to culminate in Belle French – who topped them all with the added perks of a sweet disposition.

Her kind nature could be easy enough to fake, Gold reminded himself angrily. Especially for an intelligent young woman. A woman who was quick to observe. And there was very little Belle’s blue eyes didn’t seem to witness…

Especially if Cora Mills was whispering in her ear! Knocking off useful hints from a checklist of deceit the way only Cora could!

“ – I don’t know if I’ve ever seen the moon so close,” Belle interrupted his thoughts again. Belle leaned on the far fence of her garden; mittened hands searching for his own.

Clearing his throat, Gold forced a reply, “You must not stay out late then.”

“Not usually,” she admitted. “I suppose it is closer to sunrise now – with the moon slipping so low in the sky. What is that quote,” she asks into the night. Gold knows the question wasn’t directed to him. He watches Belle’s face as she searches her memory for the lines she longs for; her forehead wrinkling as she skims through an encyclopedia of knowledge.

“ _The moon was but a chin of gold_ ,” she quotes steadily to him. “ _A night or two ago –_ “

“Best get inside,” Gold interrupts briskly; removing his hand from her grasp and beckoning Belle back through the frozen garden. “- getting too chilly out here for your fancy frock!”

That was as close as Gold could come to complimenting how beautiful she looked this evening. And as lovely as the lass looked in that ‘fancy frock’, Gold knew he couldn’t risk being exposed any longer. Bae had been correct: Belle French was a liability. From the moment she’d knocked on his door, she been a blind spot; causing him to behave like a imbecile! Like a lovelorn fool!

Again! It was all happening again!

Gold bitterly thought back to his previous dark-haired beauties. But this one – this liaison - would end before any more harm could be done. That Gold was sure of!

Belle was perched on the top step of the porch; beaming down at him with bright adoring eyes and, seemingly, waiting for something. Something Gold knew would never come.

“We shalt be seeing each other again,” announced Gold plainly.

Her smile shattered - but than slipped back into place. Smoothly Belle called down, “Of course we shall – we see each other almost everyday –“

“Not anymore,” spat back Gold. “I – I can’t be seen walking-out with you.”

“Why not,” demanded Miss French.

Gold looked at the ground; willing himself into his lies before he could continued; staring at Miss French with feigned contempt, “You make me a laughingstock. Don’t you see it? When I walked into _the Palms_ with you on my arm? Fact is: I’m an elected official. A man of the people. Always in the public eye. And if the public doesn’t like seeing me with a young thing,… I’ve got to consider re-election in the future.”

“So, it’s all about politics for you?”

“It’s all about _power_ ,” answered Gold. “And politics? Right now that’s where the power is.”

Belle clutched a column for balance; shaking her head in disbelief.

“No,” she started defiantly. “You are not so –“

“Believe me: I am,” Gold assured her with a mirthless laugh. “You mean nothing to me – just a lark to pass a few evenings. If there’d been something to gain, maybe we’d have continued on for a few more months. Then lost interest. But Atlantic City has spoken and I’m only too ready to answer its call.”

He forced the gate open again and moved to leave – but Belle’s soft-voice called him back.

“You’ll regret this,” she billowed into the icy air. “You’ll regret this moment – and I’ll not be waiting for you. I love you,” her voice broke off in a sob, “ – but I’ll not be waiting forever. I do have some self-respect left to keep!”

“You needn’t wait at all,” he replied back; jamming the gate shut and retreating into the night.

For the next few hours, the first few of the new year’s morning, Gold paced his empty home; willing himself to believe he’d done right. The proof he sought was assembled across his mantelpiece; a series of photographs in a neat line. The oldest had a scratch in the upper corner and had started bleaching in places from it’s long exposure to the light – and the cheap photographer’s varying skills with chemicals (but he was all Gold could afford at the time). Still, Gold loved this photograph of his boy. Bae was five and his arms were blurring because his son was never not in motion. Still couldn’t sit-still, Gold thought fondly as he next viewed a photograph of Bae from his college years; a smart-looking young man in over-sized trousers and an awkwardly hanging sweater. Bae had even posed with his assorted school books to give off the air of a true scholar – but Gold noticed a small but similar blurring; this time his son’s fingers frozen forever in a haze from where Bae couldn’t stop drumming them against the book’s cover.

And as he viewed these memories; picture after picture of his son, Gold almost felt vindicated. When he studied the newest photograph, one his daughter-in-law had commissioned for the ‘grandparents’, Gold couldn’t help reaching out to hold the small print. There was his grandson, the future president of the United States of America, Jackson H. Gold. Jack sat on a chair; dressed in a little sailor suit – for no reason at all, Gold scoffed. But he’d not give Emma the satisfaction of complaining about Jackson’s wardrobe openly!

And Jack was a smart babe – Gold already knew that. Handsome, too. Something almost regal about the little president-in-the-making. Gold smiled when he realized Jack’s fist must have been in motion. The tradition of blurred hands continued onward! Some might try to explain it as the actions of a baby, but Gold knew it wasn’t going anywhere. When Gold was a very old man, the day Jack gets sworn into office, Jack’s hands will still be in moving in the President’s first inaugural photograph.

Gold headed for his bed almost convinced nothing else mattered but Bae’s success and Jack’s future.

But the dreams to come were terrifying! Even more so because Gold prided himself on dreamless sleep. It seemed a much more efficient and practical habit! But memories haunted Gold the moment his head hit the pillows.

It started back at the beginning: the boardwalk. Gold had been a youth of fifteen; gangly and underfed. Working any job he could get with a heavy accent and holes in his boots. His ears had picked up the laughter first: Millie.

A group of girls walked, dressed in their Sunday’s best, gazing into the windows along the pier. Not rich girls – working-class stock that had taken on airs that they got to be dressed so very fine. Had it been a holiday? Gold honestly couldn’t recall. Might have been a festival or the like.

From the beginning, Millie was all he’d had eyes for; black curls framed a pale face as she stood in the center of it all; always laughing the loudest. That was his Millie. Millie had been piling curls atop her head, attempting to tie her hair back with a garish green ribbon.

At fifteen, he’d assumed it was fate at work – when the breeze off the water sent the green ribbon flying out of her hands. And, in any direction the ribbon could have gone, it had to have landed at his feet. Gold had returned the ribbon eagerly; delighting in a chance to meet the young beauty. From there, everything seemed to speed up. Millie would get pregnant with Bae soon after they met on the boardwalk. Gold would be a father by sixteen – and Millie would leave them. Cursing that he’d failed to give her everything _he’d_ promised. He was not the Bronte hero Miliie’s heart had dreamed up. Just a young man trying to survive.

The man he became, from that moment on, was for Bae. And Bae alone.

Millie’s screaming at him for failing her dissolved into Cora hovering outside his office door. Against his better judgment, Gold had bought interests in brothels. Skillfully looking over the previous owner’s books, Cora had entered claiming she could be his inside eyes.

“Whores will always trick you. They’ll rob you blind,” she explained.

She was a slip of a girl back then. Far too young for the profession. And hungry in every way a person could be. With eyes almost bulging out of sunk-in cheeks.

“Then why should I trust you,” Gold countered. “You’re a whore, aren’t you?”

Cora had the sly smile of a cat finding a mouse in the corner, “I’ve a daughter. Two years old. A daughter I’d rather didn’t have to go into this business someday. Make me a Madame: and I can promise loyalty. For the sake of my child, I won’t cheat you. And, as the Madame here, your success will be mine. Mutual success - or destruction?”

That Gold could understand. He would question, years later, if anything Cora said had been true. Had the whore acted just to protect her daughter Regina? Or had that calculating woman known about Bae all along and preyed upon Gold’s parental sympathies?

They had been lovers – although briefly – a year after their partnership started. Gold could still remember how Cora would perch atop his desk; always watching and learning.

“Teach me,” she’d purr into his ear. “Don’t just do the books for me: show me how!”

It had seemed an innocent enough request at first: so Gold had taught her mathematics. When Cora could balance the accounts by herself, Gold would be sought out for advisement on reprimanding workers. Suggestions on other business ventures later on. Little knowing he was slowly training his greatest enemy; methodically being phrased out of the industry entirely.

Millie and Cora seemed to swirl together in his dream. Black curls lightened to chestnut. The bottomless brown eyes of Cora became cornflowers with a blink. There was Belle staring straight at him. Belle repeating over and over again, “I love you.”

“ _I love you_.”

Another manipulation, Gold rationalized when he awoke. In a moment of desperation, of course the spy from Cora would have to use anything and everything to reel him back into her clutches.

Gold lay awake; utterly confused. And unsure what he was doing up at the still early hour. The sun was only starting to rise through the drawn curtains of his bedroom. Gold blinked repeatedly as he gained his bearings; recognizing the blaring in his ears. His telephone was ringing.

He ignored the contraption; bringing the covers back over his shoulders and forcing his eyes closed. Gold even felt a moment of triumph when the ringing stopped; curling onto his side and praying he found a dreamless sleep this time.

But the ringing started again. And Gold felt dread twisting his gut. Gold threw back the covers and limped down the hallway. Something wasn’t right.

“What is it,” he demanded into the receiver.

“ _Bae’s been hurt_ ,” Emma’s voice sounded on the other end. “ _We need you to come over at once_ –“

The world seemed to split open under Gold’s feet. Gold caught hold of the nearest wall to keep himself upright. With all the strength he could muster, Gold ordered, “Just tell me: is my son dead?”

“ _No_ ,” Emma clarified. “ _There was… there was an accident_ –“

“A car accident,” asked Gold.

But Emma didn’t answer that; moving straight-on with, “- _Doc’s just left. There’s been some damaged to his head – just get over here. Now_!”

Later entering his son’s apartment, panic built. No one greeted him at the door so he wandered through vacant rooms; peaking into a kitchen that was obvious untouched from the night before. Gold searched for his family; pushing the study door open to reveal a pristine sight – not the usual paperwork cluttering the desktop. The scent of cleaning solution assaulted his nostrils, forcing Gold to quickly shut the door once more.

The first member of the family to be found was little Jack; sitting up in his crib; alert and waiting to be talked to.

“It’s alright,” Gold told his grandson; running a hand over Jack’s dark hair. “Grandpa’s here – it’s alright.”

He took Jack into his arms; balancing the baby on his side as Gold continued his search; hesitantly opening the door to his son’s bedroom.

Bae, his boy, was a pale heap on the bed. Bandages looped around Bae’s head – and hands. Gold’s heart stopped at the scene; holding Jack close as he considered the possibility that Bae was dead. The steady rise of his son’s chest was the only thing that gave Gold the bravery to ease into the room; glancing at the worn-figure of his daughter-in-law as she waited by Bae’s bedside; hand stretched to hold Bae’s as he slept.

“Doc gave Bae something to help him sleep,” Emma greeted Gold when she noticed him. “ – said he may be a bit loopy when he comes to –“

“Shouldn’t be surprised,” Gold mused; shifting Jack as he moved to sit opposite Emma at Bae’s bedside. “- The way you drive: it was only a matter of time before you and Bae wrecked. Car’s ruined I presume?”

But Emma looked up at him – not a scratch on her round face. And with venom, she declared, “Shut up! You have no idea what Bae and myself have been through tonight. I have not gone through hell and back to then be patronized by your… you’re such a …”

She trailed off; shaking with anger and clutching Bae’s hand like it was her last anchor of hope.

“Calm down,” said Gold; shifting Jack to his knee. “Tell me – what happened? How did Bae get in this sorry state?”  
“Sorry state,” Emma repeated annoyed. “Bae’s survived an assassination attempt!”

“Don’t be overdramatic – facts only, if you please. I can work more swiftly with the right facts.“

“Overdramatic? I walk into MY study – in MY home. And find August Booth attempting to strangle MY husband.”

That certainly caught Gold’s attention, “August? That guy from the speak?”

“Yes,” Emma glared. “The man who Bae’s been working with since day one. We counted August as a friend. And now that –“

Emma broke down; pressing her forehead into Bae’s hand before begging, “How can I keep going? Knowing how easy it was for them to get to us? How can I sleep here? How do I feel safe with Jack and Bae sleeping here –“

Gold urged, “So August Booth is at large? He’s still out there?”

“August is no longer a problem,” stammered Emma; biting her lip as she wiped away tears. “August has been dealt with.”

The implication hung in the air; Gold scooting closer to whisper, “Did Bae –“

“I killed August Booth,” Emma told him sternly. “When I saw him trying to strangle Bae in the study, I moved to where Bae hides the gun – from there I pointed and just shot.”

Gold leaned back; staring at the woman in awe. He remembered the impeccably clean study. The tart smell from the cleaning solution -

“And… you also cleaned up?”

Emma shrugged, “Bae tried to help but started to get dizzy – August landed some heavy blows before I got there. So yes: I finished it up.”

“I’ll do a walk-through. Make sure you were thorough.”

“I was very thorough,” Emma argued. “I cannot say I have much practice covering up a crime-scene but I’m confidant I was thorough!”

“And the body,” Gold stuttered; not relishing the idea of taking on the duty of body disposal.

“Dealt with,” said Emma simply.

“Care to elaborate?”

Emma huffed, “I drove the body to the docks; to one of our warehouses. August was a popular guy – well liked among the bootleggers. His sudden departure wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. So I thought, ‘ _let’s give them a body to mourn over!_ ’ They’ll drive in Monday morning and find that the Mills’ family knocked off one of their favorite chums.”

“And what indicates the Mills’ family?”  
Emma smirked, “Because that’s what we’ll tell them happened. We’ll cook up a tale – maybe even paint August as some rugged hero – and they’ll eat it up. Mainly because that’s what they’ll want to believe about the guy they liked so very much. And it more than benefits us! Think how much they’ll hate New York? How loyal to us they’ll be?”

“Nothing guarantees loyalty,” Gold assured her. “I told your husband this before – and recent events prove it more than ever.”

“I don’t know,” Emma said. “I would think a common enemy can unite us all.”

“It might,” agreed Gold. “For a time. At the very least, people thinking August was a hero and unjustly murdered could serve our ends very nicely. Tell me more about the scene. Can you guarantee no one saw you -”

“Absolutely. No one was still out – if there was anyone, they’d be too sloshed to see straight; yet alone positively ID me to the police.”  

“You drive a rather garish automobile –“

“My car is yellow,” acknowledged Emma. “But it was still so dark out. No – I’m positive that’s alright. But I wouldn’t be against borrowing your garage for the next few days-“

Gold raised an eyebrow at her; earning a flippant, “I’m still convinced I’ve handled everything top-notch! But I told Doc we had hit a patch of ice and went into a tree. I give it till mid-day for that story to get around town and I’ll need to hide the car until I can reasonably claim we’ve had all the ‘damage’ fixed.”

Gold nodded, “I’ll see to that –“

“And the gun,” Emma realized aloud. “I didn’t know what – I was going to wipe it and toss it down next to the body… but I didn’t know if it could be traced back to you. What do we do about the gun?”  
“You’ll give it to me and I’ll handle –“

Emma released a long breath, “I feel as though I’ve been running around with my head cut off!”

“You’ve done well,” Gold – uncharacteristically – praised his son’s wife. “I can’t say you’ve left much to chance.”

He found if difficult to imagine this slip of a girl – the daughter of Mary Margaret: biggest pain in the backside – single-handedly dragging a dead body off into the night. But credit must be placed where credit was due!

“You wore gloves? When you handled the body?”  
“I’m not a simpleton,” remarked Emma; sitting up straighter in her chair; hand still holding Bae tightly.

“Good,” Gold praised in as gentle a voice as he could manage. “Now – there are variables neither you nor I have any control over. Emma, we don’t know what August did prior to stopping off here. We don’t know who else is working for the Mills’. We don’t know if August was seen walking into the building – or told anyone he was off to see Bae. But we can’t act uncertain; not for a moment going into this. If the police stop by, asking around: be the gracious little housewife. You haven’t seen him all evening. Neither has Bae. Heard a rumor he was shacked up with a dame by the tracks? Had a hot piece in New York with a jealous ex? Share those! But always vague. August was a causal acquaintance and nothing more. Understand?”

Emma nodded; biting her bottom lip as she processed things.

“- Do you…,” Emma turned away; frustrated with herself before trying again. “Am I a wicked person? I keep playing everything over again in my mind; expecting to feel guilt – to be remorseful over taking someone’s life… but I can’t! I can’t recall everything – and I can’t feel remorse. While I don’t think August was an inherently bad sort of person, I’d heard and witnessed enough to know he meant to kill Bae.”

Under the scrutiny of Emma’s pleading gaze, Gold had to note a fierce determination he’d not attributed to his daughter-in-law before. She had defended the family – their family. For the first time, he had to admit the blonde staring back at him was a Gold. And the variety of differences and ways he’d fortified to keep her separate came crashing down.

“Do you want an honest answer,” Gold asked – continuing only when Emma nodded her answer. “Give your brain time to process all this – some morning, maybe even years from now, you’ll remember. You’ll be able to focus in on what you’ve done. And you’ll see what I do. Something horrible was going to happen in that moment; someone was going to have to die. So you made the call –“

“But no one should be able to just decided something like that,” Emma voiced. “It’s not our decision but – “

“God’s? I’m not about to undergo a vast theological discussion with you. I am, first and foremost, not the person to contemplate Gold’s will. Focus on what you did. You kept Bae alive. And impressively spun a way to make this whole mess beneficial to us in the end. We need to come down hard on the Mills. They’ve threatened our business interests, planted spies in our midst, and openly targeted Bae –“

“We don’t know if the Mills’ ordered August to kill Bae,” Emma noted; composing herself. “But it’s safe to assume any other spy working us over will be fleeing when they learn August’s fate. If the Mills’ family killed off one of their ‘insiders’, might be their killing off all the loose ends.”

Gold admitted, “I had not yet considered that – but you’re correct. Scares out any other spies, unites folks against New York… you are good at this! I hadn’t expected that when Bae married you.”

“Nor did he,” answered Emma. “Nor did I, honestly! But – I don’t know – it just seems sort of natural; when I think about it and question what’s to come next. Oh, and we should volunteer to host August’s funeral. Is that too familiar? He’s on records as a handyman for Bae’s real estate business. And I’m not sure his father would be capable of paying- God, that’s just not right! Me now casually planning the funeral of the man I just killed!”

Gold shrugged, “Maybe not, but it proves you’re more apt for this lifestyle than Bae ever has been.”

Emma glared at Gold; like admitting Bae wasn’t a criminal mastermind was a slight against her husband. But Gold had only meant to be truthful. Bae was many things. Bae was clever; organized and managed the clubs with ease. Supposedly booked fashionable music – through Gold had little taste in modern music. But Bae would never be the mastermind of this family.

Gold looked to Emma questionably; his eyes flickered down at Bae’s bruised face before darting back to Emma’s.

She seemed to understand the hesitation that lay between them; explaining, “Bae will have to take things slow for awhile – there’s a long road ahead of him. Maybe it’s a good time for Bae? Let him focus on _the Golden Palms_ and get his strength back – … I can handle the rest.”

“Do you understand what you’re taking on? I’ll be there, of course, to help. But if we are going to war –“

“But we won’t be,” mused Emma. “- Not yet anyways. We bury August Booth first. Make sure his family is looked after. Bury the dead – and you’ll schedule a meeting for me with the daughter. This Regina Mills person –“

“Now why would you want to have a sit-down with the likes of her,” exclaimed Gold.

Emma smirked at him, “Just to talk.”


End file.
